I'd Rather Go Blind
by E.J. Cady
Summary: Unrequited love isn't fun and no one knows that better than Jo, at least she's doing something about it.
1. Chapter 1

**DISCLAIMER:**The Facts of Life and its characters are the property of Columbia Pictures Television and Sony Pictures Television, no infringement intended.

**Archiving:** Only with the permission of the author.

**Adult rating: **There is sexual content and violence and moderate language.  
**General Note: **I like to take characters out for a stroll in my head and they come out in my head in stories like this one.  
**Pairing:** Blair/Joanna Boots/Joanna Graham/Blair

New characters too so don't get confused.  
**xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx**

For two very different reasons for two very different people the day marked a change. For one it meant a fairytale coming to fruition. For the other a darker notion shaded her path. Weddings in perspective are meant to be monumental that way. Blair Warner, with the means and imagination, placed her adolescent dreams into a day, her day. Jo Polniaczek glimpsed the day in stages from their youth. They started as magazine clips with notes scribbled beside them. They were torn out and placed in a special notebook that no one was ever allowed to see. Out of spite and some curiosity Jo had peeked inside. The book was made up of archived flowers, smells, drapery and a sketch of an expensive dress.

The finished product was inside the chapel, not the steps where Jo stood. She couldn't bring herself to walk inside. Right now she could only imagine a collage of torn paper and hurried scribbling. If she went inside it would ruin Blair's incomplete dream. It was one thing to see the idea in a notebook. It was an entirely different beast to see the dress, the crowd, the kiss.

She stood outside with her hands pushed down in the pockets of her of her grey pant suit. She eyed the oak and the spiral design that made the door look intimidating. The cross looked intimidating, as if placed there specifically for people like her. People that stood where she stood, dueling with their heart and their head like she was now. Jo could burst through the doors and drag Blair out professing that no one would ever love her like she could. And while it was true it was impractical. Joanne was many things, but she could not claim to be impractical.

They had started as all honest romances do with friendship. It transformed into a passionate affair with one thing threatening to tear it all down, a lie. The lie exposed was an obstacle that Blair and Jo needed to overcome. But like all explosions it can never be undone and in default never forgotten.

"Jo?"

In reflex Jo cringed. The voice was the same, but the tone wasn't as obnoxiously grating. She turned dropping down one step as the woman in white approached. Her gait was different and more sedate. Her smile wasn't painfully cheery. Boots St. Clair had always been attractive, but everything else about her stood in the way of Jo enjoying it.

"Boots," she replied dryly in greeting.

Boots tilted her head, but the leaning hat on her head didn't fall. Jo eyed it oddly; fashion was lost on her when it came to hats.

"Fancy meeting you here," she stopped beside the other brunette.

"Well it is my best friend's wedding," Jo stated matter-of-factly.

Boots smirked, "I meant here," she pointed with a gloved finger to the step Jo stood on. She continued, "On these steps you're not inside," the last part sounding like a suspicious accusation.

"Well I uh…," she cleared her throat, "you just caught me heading in."

"Did I?" she asked the side of her mouth drawn up. Jo hadn't been aware, but because of terrible parking, Boots had had her driver to circle the block. Three times she circled. Each time the figure in gray looked more and more contemplative on the chapel steps.

The former cop made it a point to look behind her, "no adoring horde?"

Boots smile darkened. Jo was different. There wasn't a rule she wouldn't break that stood for civility in the heiresses eye. That could possibly be one of the things that made the woman so interesting. Born and bred in a box with fixed ideas and preconceived plans Boots led the life outlined for her and was good at it. If she hadn't she wouldn't be the woman she was today nor could she appreciate her admiration and disdain for her former classmate.

"I gave them the day off. This is Blair's day after all."

"How magnanimous of you," Jo teased.

"Yes it sounds almost grown up doesn't it?" Boots brushed by the other brunette.

Jo turned and headed to the doors. It was more to spite Boots speculative gaze than a desire to bite the bullet. She yanked the door open, "after you."

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Jo could see why Blair insisted on being married here. The stained glass and the light shining through littered the room with complimentary hues. The pews were full of loving family and friends, and envious onlookers bore carvings of cherubs.

Jo sat in the back. Jo would see Dorothy and Natalie in the bridal party walking down the aisle before the bride. She would watch as they passed. Jo had declined Blair's request to be her maid of honor. It was never healthy to stand too close to the flame. And while Blair's dejected response tugged at her, Jo was a survivor first and foremost. Blair had already ruined her. She didn't intend to be broken completely.

Whispering voices filled the room. The detective wasn't concerned with scattered voices. She was lost in her own thoughts until a certain perfume reminded her of where she was. Blair was close. She was probably standing outside the doors.

For the two hour celebration of doves and wedding music and the traditions that made it a ceremony, Jo suffered. Her friends were beautiful in their peach dresses. The men in their tailored suits looked dashing. It was hard not to get caught up in the glamour of Blair's creation. That is until the dreaded moment came. The room wasn't entirely devoid of sound. Seats cracked under the weight of someone shifting. The sounds of heels brushing the floor and breathing were background sounds, compared to the booming voice of the minister.

The surreal beauty was unquestionable and equally dismaying, at least for a certain guest.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

The reception was simple, but elegant. Like the church the lighting set the mood not the wedding trinkets. Blair smiled at her husband leaning against him as they sat their long table. "I'm going to love loving you for the rest of my life," she heard him whisper in her ear.

She leaned her head forward as familiar lips brushed up against her neck. "Is this what you want?"

He chuckled taking his seat beside her, "aren't you supposed to ask that before we take the plunge?"

She shoved him lightly, "don't make it sound like we're jumping off a bridge."

He took a sip of his wine and at the expensive ring he bought her. He didn't think he was ever capable of purchasing something that expensive. Though the former Warner wasn't the type of woman to swoon over the ordinary, he smiled at the absurdity. Graham took her hand bringing it to his lips, "That's exactly what we've done."

They sat like that for a while until the sound of raised voices caught their attention. Blair was willing to accept many things about her new husband. His friends from the police force, save one, were going to be an adjustment.

"I'll do damage control," he volunteered unhappily before his new wife could say anything.

He stood and walked over to a group of rowdy men and a lone woman. "The married man cometh," the words slurred together as a shorter man announced his presence.

"It's not even ten minutes in and you're wasted? Since when do you get blitzed off wine anyway?" he took the glass the man was holding.

Scott frowned at the relinquished drink, "weddings give me the willies. I brought good ole Adelaide along to calm my nerves." He pulled out a silver capped container he had named and took a gulp.

Graham shook his head. "Does upstanding assistant DA mean anything to you guys? Try not to make me look too bad here."

"O, we'll be on our best behavior," Kolfee extended his hand, "care to dance," in an exaggeratedly sophisticated tone. Jo looked at the outstretched limb and a hairier hand accepted the invitation. Graham pinched the bridge of his nose as he watched his former brothers in blue dance.

"Why me?" he groaned as they began to circle he and Jo.

Jo shrugged slightly amused.

"You know this wouldn't have happened if it weren't for you."

Jo took a drink, "what?" she frowned as the two began to hum loudly and off key.

He chuckled wearing a similarly pained expression, "today and every day after that I get to spend with her as my wife."

Jo's heart dropped. Graham was her partner until he passed the bar. Though, in the short time that one night and an introduction take, Graham and Blair had become Graham and Blair. She shrugged taking a long sip from her glass. She needed something stronger than wine.

"Thanks Jo," she eyed him and he looked like he wanted to say more. She shrugged and excused herself. He watched her go, but then his eyes moved back to the woman charming the room. This was the happiest day of his life.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Jo needed to be able to breathe again. She scoped out exits before at the rehearsal dinner Blair insisted she attend, even though she wasn't in the wedding. The mansion had been in the Warner family for generations. On the second floor she found it. It sat close to the window and with the festivities downstairs no one would know she was missing much less hear her playing.

She sat at the piano. The chords were familiar and the rhythm was soothingly blue. She poured whatever was left in her soul in the notes. This may have been her friend's best day, but this was by far her worst. The happy couple freely gave her the credit she didn't want.

"Nina Simone?" Boots walked through the glass doors. "A bit telling don't you think?"

Jo's hands halted. They hovered over the keys. She thought she was alone. "What?"

"Since I fell for you," the socialite clarified. She made her way over to Jo slowly. She took off her hat placing it on top of the dark piano. Jo reminded her of a cabaret piano player. Though, she hadn't remembered Jo being musically inclined. It was a pleasant surprise.

Jo sat watching her.

"Why are you following me?"

"I'm not," she placed a delicate hand on an equally delicate hip. Jo's eyes followed the innocuous motion. She had just watched her best friend get married. She watched her dance their first dance and tears fell in happiness. Perhaps, only in Jo's head, she could turn out to be the one that could complete her best friend. Was her mind that screwed up to find the time to admire the body of her most disliked classmates from college?

"What do you call it?" the piano player lowered her eyes safely to the keys.

"A breather from suffocating niceties," she answered. "Is it my fault that you and I happened to retreat to the same room?" She ended with a question without desiring an answer.

"Won't your husband be missing you?" Jo vaguely remembered hearing about Boots' marriage.

She shook her head, "wonderfully divorced."

"Sorry to hear that," Jo replied in a hesitant question.

The brunette took a seat beside Jo. She faced the opposite direction. It wasn't the keys that interested her. "It was my first probably won't be my last," she replied flippantly.

"That sounds….lonely," Jo began caressing the keys with her fingers.

"One of the few facts of life school doesn't prepare us for."

Jo eyed the other brunette curiously. "And what's that?"

"Decisions, particularly important ones, have always made me sleepy, perhaps because I know that I will have to make them by instinct, and thinking things out is only what other people tell me I should do."

Jo turned her head to smile. The smile graduated into a chuckle. Her shaking shoulders made the brunette curious.

"As I recall you were quite fond of Lillian Hellman in college," the frowning woman stated.

Jo's chuckled died down. Since when did Boots' perception extend to things that weren't for selfish gain?

"If I were the type to dwell on questions I didn't know the answer to, I would wonder, why you aren't celebrating. This is one of the happiest days of Blair's life. And here you are sitting with me." Jo tried to cut her off, but Boots continued undeterred. "But I suppose there is only so much torture one can endure."

"I see some things haven't changed. Doesn't talking outta your ass get tiring?"

Boots smiled thinly, "no more tiring than hope." Standing and retrieving her hat she placed it back on her head. Before she left the room completely she turned and took in the piano player. Jo met her gaze, but Boots' eyes were hidden under the elongated brim.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Marshall looked at the brunette. People like her kept him in business. Addiction was a cruel seductive thing he had no qualms in feeding. She came to him under the cloak of night. To the untrained eye she was an upstanding woman. No one knew how pivotal his role was to her public image or how good of a liar she was.

"I have some new product. I'm told it'll knock your socks off doll," he recollected the description someone had not too long ago shared.

"Do I look like the type to wear socks?" his eyes veered toward her feet, but he took liberties to travel elsewhere. He doubted she even owned a pair of sneakers.

The heiresses' eyes moved from the glass to the drug dealer. This was their routine. They met, he flirted and pitched, she stuck with what she knew best. She knew what could make her escape, she knew never to overindulge. Witnessing her first and only overdose had kept her away from anything harder than the coke she sniffed on occasion. Heroin had been the drug of choice for her mother. Watching her life spiral into the oblivion of lost time via an insatiable craving was devastating. The difference between them was that her mother had become an addict. This was her recreational getaway from the world.

"The usual, nothing more nothing less," she handed him the bill that guaranteed his undivided attention.

Despite his bravado and pet names reserved for gumshoes of the 1950s his individualism was stripped bare by the thing that all men like him have in common, his lust for money. She was always taught that money made the world go round. Though, she had only considered her small portion of it, never the world outside of parties, weddings, fundraisers, and shopping sprees.

Marshall dropped the package beside her. The box was light blue with a lavender bow. The box was above and beyond what was required of him and if friends who knew him ever found out he wouldn't hear the end of it. No words needed to be exchanged when money changed hands. His time was up and per ritual he saw himself out and off to his next client.

Her driver pulled away without the behest of his mistress. It was his job to anticipate her needs, nights like this he would drop her off home and he would be dismissed for the remainder of the night. It wasn't his place to question how she spent her evenings especially the ones after meeting with Mr. Parent.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Marshall watched the car drive away before his rolled up next to him. Usually there was no need for cloak and dagger meetings, but he felt more like a drug dealer when he did. Up to no good at ungodly hours reminded him he was alive. If he lived to be as old as his father he wanted more to reminisce about in old age than mergers and company business. There was more to life and while he didn't need the money greed made his side ventures necessary.

His business was small. A few word of mouth clients that called him during his business hours to get a hold of something only he could provide. It fed into his need to be needed. He'd gone through most of his life invisible. Perhaps not in the sense that most people walk through life unnoticed since his money gave him an advantage. He wanted to be seen as a lone entity not an extension of his father or his heritage.

Leaning against the window he stared. He didn't pay attention to the night or the droplets of a light rain that had lasted an hour or so. He saw Boots St. Clair. Clients like Boots were a joy to do business with. Eye candy as his beck and call and it all started with an itch.

The brunette was a goddess. A lost treasure brought back to him in the wake of divorce. Drugs had never truly interested him until he found out the object of his affections owned a vice. It hadn't started with her, he felt that a bit too obvious. One friend and then another referred him to another until one day he was sent into her limo giving her a taste. Cocaine was a luxury item at least the grade that he used.

"One day," the day was coming soon he knew. He'd been patient. He'd been charming. And then he would have what he wanted and Boots would give it eagerly.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

The amazing honeymoon in Blair's head had to be forfeited for the time and energy spent on the wedding. Graham and Blair had too many responsibilities to leave the country as she would have liked. Graham had just accepted his position at the district attorneys' office and Blair had committed to a specific account at her father's firm. Instead they settled for three days in a cottage in the Hamptons, it was quaint and quiet, far away from the real world.

If someone had told her she would fall for someone like Graham Blair would have been wary. While life had sobered her to the fairytale of happily ever after, success was an attractive quality that she wouldn't compromise on. She was still her father's daughter. She was ambitious and thrived on being in like minded company. Graham had filled a void that no man before him. The best of both worlds at the risk of being cliché fit like a glove.

Now they were in the center of their four post bed. Bodies were tangled and sheets covered them, but it was still hard to discern which belonged to whom. Lazy fingers took their time across the length of soft silky skin. The leg it bothered moved and Graham smiled at the response.

"Babe?" he whispered in her ear, she moaned in response uninterested in the effort of forming words. He was happy. Pin pointing one moment in life to memorize would have to be today. If hadn't been a certain ornery Bronx native's partner he never would have met her. It wasn't as if they moved in the same circles. Before Blair the finer things in life were lost to him, but he didn't mind the education if it meant she would be in his company.

He'd been born in a similar neighborhood as Jo. Where blood and sweat shaped survival. The more he worked to get out the harder he bled and perspired. Now he had a wife. A woman that loved him beyond his own understanding and he wasn't questioning her sanity even though he knew his friends were. He would take her as crazy as long as it meant that she was his.

He kissed the back of her head smelling the scent of her shampoo, "what are you thinking about?" It was incredible had well she smelled all the time. She moaned again provoking an endearing smile. It was ok if she slept. They had the rest of the lives together to be awake to enjoy each other. "I love you. I don't think I'm ever gonna get tired of telling you that."

She rolled over slowly, "good, cause I'll expect that type of ego stroking regularly."

"Your sounding more like a litigator than my wife," he admired her hooded gaze. His hand lifted up to caress the side of her cheek.

"Litigator, trend setter, doting lover, you're stuck with them all," she responded unashamed.

His groan was mocking, but her eyes widened a little more to the day. Then just as quickly he transformed, "is there a naughty librarian in there somewhere too?" he growled.

She began giggling as his tongue tickled her neck. "Maybe, but we have the rest of our lives to find out." It felt strange to say even with the ring on her hand. The remnants of the ceremony still in her head and the pictures were still hard to reconcile with the constants that existed before marriage.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

"I hate this," Jo pulled at her collar. They were all expected to wear full uniform for the evening. Blair's wedding had only been one of two ceremonies she had made promises to attend.

Scott shrugged, "the view is nice," he eyed the woman headed in their direction. They had been inside for the duration of a drink with small talk. After face time with their captain, Jo and her team, snuck out one after the other finding each other outside to determine where to go next.

Kolfee and Jo followed his gaze. These official dinners were the few occasions were the classes met in one room. The donations for that evening would hopefully procure more safe friendly materials the budget couldn't supply. Donations made wealthier members of the city appear giving. It made all the sense in the world for her to attend. Boots was all about looking good. Jo conceded she was succeeding. What was with this woman and her entrances?

"Detective Polniaczek," Boots greeted. Climbing the stairs shouldn't look primal. Jo, fully aware of the former, wondered why her body was reacting to Boots ascent. It was as if she'd never seen a beautiful woman climb stairs before.

"Boots," she smiled. Everyone was given 'the talk' about decorum the day before. She'd been on her best behavior since the start of the evening. Boots St. Clair had the potential to ruin that.

"We really should stop meeting like this," she greeted on the step.

Kolfee and Scott turned simultaneously both curious and envious. She met their stare then turned back to the faultlessly dressed woman.

"Let me guess I'm just catching you heading inside?" she teased.

Scott jumped in. "Actually we were just leaving. I read it's good to hydrate after inordinate amounts of ass kissing."

"That sounds like sage advice," she smiled. If anyone were paying close attention to Scott they could see his chest rise, a bit more erect than before.

Jo shook her head, "she's not interested."

"You know the last person, who thought they could speak for me, pays me enough alimony to buy a gold platted license plate with the inscription; 'MMTGOD'."

Jo smirked, "do I even want to know what that stands for?"

"It's obnoxious and ostentatious so probably not," she delivered.

Boots looked at the trio. The tell tale signs of unbuttoned jackets, warned that wherever they were heading next would be completely opposite of the night she intended. She imagined Jo had looked quite civilized in the beginning of the evening. Police galas were few and far in between ceremonies she frequented. They always needed funded and it was good for cops to feel appreciated by the community. She picked and chose her functions and how much publicity she would receive. Tonight she came with the explicit purpose to leave by the side of one NYPD's finest.

"Lovely meeting you gentlemen, Jo," she made her way toward the door not entirely enthused about attending now.

Scott called out after her, "why are you going in there?"

"Scott," Jo drew out his name in warning.

He ignored her, "Come with us, you'll have more fun."

Boots turned to his companions. Kolfee didn't look too invested in her coming or going. She could smell the need rolling off Scott in waves. Jo's nonresponsive was even more intriguing.

"When he starts any sentence with 'I read' it's safe to bet that anything after is bull," Jo warned. Surprised and pleased the socialite accepted Scott's invitation.

Scott looked back and then walked up to the pride and joy. He unlocked the door to his black 1969 ss Camaro. "ln," Scott coaxed his team brusquely before sweetening his smile for the newcomer. Boots decided that a leotard on a bull would be a better fit than sweet on Scott. She settled into the leather. Scott revved his engine for show missing the roll of eyes in the backseat. Boots indulged him by voicing how impressive his car was.

Hogalvee sanctuary to boozing, beaten down patrons held it's doors open at all hours for NYPD's finest. It was owned by a retiree and on most evening's war stories were swapped over beer and stale peanuts, beer being the operative lure. They walked in garnering curious gazes, or rather the lady in the sparkling lavender dress did.

Hog smirked, "you grunts have never looked better," he greeted. The retiree had immersed himself in every barkeep stereotype; as if to solidify he could be something other than a cop. He took Boots by her hand to deliver a kiss, "just in case those uniforms have gone to their head, it's only cause of their company."

Scott glared. "Don't mind this rolling stone. He hasn't realized his lines stopped working since Mary Magdalene discovered Jesus."

Hogalvee chuckled, "They worked well enough for your mother." If only it had been like most 'your mama' jokes, made from a realm of untruth.

Jo's shoulders shook and Kolfee dropped his head as snickering erupted. The only one unaffected was Boots, who observed each reaction. The two, unoccupied with laughter, were brawling. Scott had jumped across the table and tackled the older man. They took turns throwing each other into walls and chairs.

"I thought this was a cop bar," Boots directed to the amused companions. Kolfee wiped tears from his eyes.

"It is," Jo managed through laughter.

Boots looked around. Everyone saw the carnage, but no one moved to do anything more than watch. "Isn't anyone going to do something?" She cringed when the bar owners hand connected with the younger man's knee cap.

"Nah…this is how they work out there problems," Kolfee supplied. He frowned as a chair broke under their combined weights when Scott reached to catch himself and Hog charged.

Jo took Boots' hand leading her to a table away from the mess. "I take it he's very sensitive about his mother."

"Only when his father mentions her," Jo supplied claiming a pitcher of beer forgotten by a scattering waitress. It was common knowledge that at least one fight would erupt when father and son were in the same room. Verbal sparring evolved to fists connecting with flesh. Both men were too much alike to come to a solution.

"They fight. We watch. Kolfee pays up," she leaned back contently. The last man standing walked to the duo. He settled in his seat while his son sat leaning against the wall glaring. He wiped at his bloody lip.

"Would you be offended if I said that this place fits you?"

Jo lowered her glass, "that depends, is it the snob speaking?"

"No…not tonight."

Jo smirked, "then no."


	2. Chapter 2

The rapport bordered on uncomfortable hilarity to abruptly endearing. No one was left sober or without rolling over in laughter at least once. Boots found Scott's father incredibly attentive that evening. He made sure she wasn't bothered or that the 'boys' weren't too foul mouthed in her presence. She appreciated the concern.

Kolfee, who seemed to be a less abrasive version of Scott, smiled crookedly as he spoke, "every woman wants someone sensitive and caring am I right?"

She paused before she answered, as if giving this question more thought than it needed, "the combination doesn't hurt."

She jumped when his large dark hand slammed against Jo's shoulder with force. The brunette, who'd been watching rapt in Boots' response, was startled. Jo stretched out her back, while Scott pursed his lips to his partner.

"You shoulda took a couple pages outta my book." Scott raised his hand emphasizing each word as if it were large and in bold, "The Foolproof Guide to a Woman's Bed," he corrected sluggishly, "I mean heart."

Speaking into the beer bottle Kolfee announced, "Asinine one-liners from assholes award goes to Scott Menze." Jo sat back in her seat sliding the beer to Scott, "Jo tell 'em what he's won!"

"Unadulterated disgust from everyone at the table and a hot beer," her delivery wasn't as enthusiastic, but Boots was thorough ly amused.

Scott held up his warm beer, as if to toast. "I'd like to thank first and foremost my father. I aim to be everything you aren't." He continued after clearing his throat, "Ms. Boots St. Clair for wearing that dress," he added a wink. Then he turned to the last two, "and my friends who might not like what I say, but'll take a bullet for me if some dump scum tried to blow me away."

Jo and Kolfee raised their empty and almost empty containers. Boots followed suit and after being coaxed by his son Hog put up an empty glass. Scott was the only one that drank to his toast.

"Now that we've kept you up with our shenanigans how bout we treat you to breakfast," Hog offered.

Boots looked at her watch. It was five fifty two in the morning. She was hungry. Jo jumped in, "Hog makes the best strawberry crepe."

"You cook?" She hadn't encountered many men that could. Her father never did. Her ex husband always left his meals for the chef to make.

"He had no choice. After women wake up to that mug they don't stick around for goodbyes much less scrambled eggs," Scott stood.

Hog glared, "a lot of people say you resemble this mug you're bashing."

"Fortunately I take after my mother," he countered rising along with his son.

They bantered until their voices disappeared upstairs. Kolfee followed shaking his head leaving Boots and Jo watching each other. The dim light of the day washed in. They sat opposite of each other. Boots in her thousand dollar dress and Jo in her itchy cotton uniform, beer and bottles separated them on the wooden table, and empty seats surrounded them. It was quiet, and they were sober enough to realize their peculiar predicament.

"Where is the upstanding socialite that belongs in that dress?"

Boots leaned on the table, circling a particular groove. When she looked at Jo she was met by an intense gaze. They stared back at her as if dissecting her exterior would clue her in to the woman underneath. College was a long time ago. Bubbly coed was a hard impression to deny even in adulthood.

"I was thinking the same thing after that second drink."

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

In life there are people that live to question until they name, catalogue, and categorize everyone that crosses their path. Boots St. Clair was one such individual. Once everything is wrapped up in a box with a pretty bow of judgment everything in her life makes sense again. She liked the control of knowing and choking everything outside of her box into submission. Behind her back people called her anal perhaps even zealot to her principle. Though they weren't savvy to the bliss and clarity cataloguing and categorizing brought. If they did she was certain that they wouldn't be so quick to dismiss her as a flippant snob. The chilly day in January brought her back to the reality that prompted her contemplation. She stood outside talking with three of her sorority sisters. It was another year and they would have to start looking at potential candidates to initiate. It always helped to do homework early in the year to get the finest caliber of members.

They were discussing an heiress of an oil empire accepted as a transfer student when Dahlia Monnahan interrupted with a flyer she retrieved from her blue knit satchel.

"Off campus party ladies, a must attend," she waved the immaculately kept flyer in their faces.

"Who'll be there?" Boots asked. In her mind it was never 'must attend' if the right people weren't attending.

"Lennox, Graham, Trap…" the exuberant blonde began noting off the lacrosse team. Players who it was common knowledge she found attractive. They were all featured in her book of potential life mates alongside ratings and family history. Diane lived in her head where numbers and reasoning usually brought favorable statistics. The other two girls seemed excited at the thought of going out surrounded by drunken jocks. Boots wasn't as excited to be accidently groped or to have another blouse ruined so someone could suggest they go in the back room and clean up. Though, being the leader required some flexibility. If Boots were a total stick in the mud they wouldn't be as quick to follow her commands. When Diane had listed off all the names of why they should attend she looked beseechingly to Boots. The brunette pursed her lips for affect even though she knew the answer to be favorable to attending.

"Fine," she answered causing Diane to clap excitedly wrinkling the flyer already crumpled under her desperate grip. Her father was a mathematician, a tightly wound one at that. Diane had exercised her freedom, as much as she would dare, by immersing herself into communal living.

Classes had started in earnest, but there was still much of the year to be concerned with studying. The rest of the day would be spent getting ready for the party. It started at nine, but it wouldn't really start until eleven, one of the few rules one discovers at college. Boots took the lead prattling on about wardrobe, makeup, and a complimentary sweater to fight off the evening chill. The other girls listened with their own suggestions in the back of their heads never to spoken a loud, or not until Boots was finished.

Boots wasn't disappointed about her expectations of the party. She was disappointed when a cup of liquor was accidentally on purpose splashed on her. She had ditched her friends fifteen minutes in the party. She didn't want to appear needy. Acknowledging classmates it wouldn't hurt her reputation to speak to and ignoring the ones that would, she moved throughout the room strategically. She heard a crowd of people betting on a game of 'who can hit the piñata drunk as a skunk?' To measure the stupidity of drunks would be as impossible an endeavor as counting stars. She had compromised and allowed herself to be roped into a den of degenerates.

She'd been sitting down minding her own business when she fell victim to the purposeful clumsiness of a horny partygoer. She moved to walk away but he gripped her arm. She slapped him indignantly and in moments it seemed the glaze in his eyes had sobered to rage. She opened her mouth to apologize, but only a wince of pain escaped. They were in a room of people and were they all blind to Boots distress? Obviously, she answered in her head. And as he began pulling her she realized how big a hindrance fear was.

"Chalk!" a hand gripped the hand that held on to Boots arm. The dark eyes moved to the drunken brunette interrupting. "I told that guy over there," Jo pointed to a blonde haired bearded man standing near a keg. "I bet 'em ten bucks that it's possible to drink upside down blindfolded and bust that piñata." She pointed to said piñata and Boots had to wonder, not for the first time, why she had come out at all tonight.

Chalk looked at Jo then Boots and the swinging piñata. "Easiest ten bucks you'll make tonight Jo." He let go of his grip and moved toward the small crowd that had milled around with news of the bet.

"Good man," she smiled hitting him on the back with one hand while the other had a tight grip on Boots. "Are you ok?" she pulled the annoying woman away from the growing crowd. The slur in her words had been replaced by sober articulation.

Boots pulled away, "fine, I could have handled him," she stuck her chest out refusing to admit she needed help from someone like Jo.

"Yea, it looked handled," she grabbed a beer from the cooler in the kitchen. Jo was a moderate drinker. She'd been around enough drunks and addicts to learn the prudence of moderation.

"Did you come here with someone?" she didn't like Boots. But the idea of leaving her alone to be cornered by Chalk or anyone else left her uneasy.

"Yes, but I haven't seen them since we arrived." Jo hadn't intended to spend the evening babysitting. "This doesn't look like your type of scene."

"It's funny I was thinking you looked right at home," the woman held herself against the refrigerator glaring at the drunken classmates, most were upperclassman. She noticed a few stragglers that looked to be underage. Jo watched her silently judge. Boots wasn't the easiest woman to get along with, but she didn't deserve to be left at a party with no one to watch her back. At least Jo repeated the thought in her head before she succumbed to her urge to walk away. Boots turned her head and glared, "what?"

Jo shook her head while taking a swig of her drink. "Boots," the hostess came in with the meaty hand of the same lacrosse player Jo came with on her hip. Jo steeled her face to the scene. She had had a crush on Madeline since the semester started. Her blonde hair her brown eyes the dimple in her cheek when she smiled. She hadn't even talked to her outside of a passing greeting. She had no claim to the woman, but the sinking feeling in her stomach was reflex. "You and Chalk were looking cozy." A blind man could see that Boots had been uncomfortable. And if she had seen the exchange why hadn't she stepped in to intervene?

Pushing off the refrigerator Boots smiled curtly, "Five seconds from my foot up his ass doesn't sound too cozy," Jo interrupted.

Madeline finally met her gaze. Boots didn't even whip her head around to glare. "I wouldn't want to step in the pool of the only kind of men you can get." Corbin came up for air at that comment feeling Madeline stiffen. Backing away he grabbed the beer Jo offered him.

"Having fun?" he smiled smugly.

"Loads," she placed a smile she didn't feel on her face.

Corbin was an army brat. If he knew how to talk to people he didn't show it. He was blunt, perhaps too much for most people to take, that's why Jo liked him. He reminded her of almost everyone that comprised her neighborhood. He was more polished than anyone on her street, but still he made her feel nostalgic.

When Corbin noticed Jo spending more time than necessary admiring the blouse of an underclassman in the quad, his mission began. A single blush was all it took for Corbin to confirm rumors and his own suspicions. Why would Jo blush if she hadn't felt guilty about being caught? Where'd the guilt come from? She remembered the conversation after she'd been noticed. He'd said she was hot. Jo ignored his gaze shrugging. She offered him indifference rather than confess more than she was comfortable with.

"I give her a seven," he shouldered Jo pointing out a dark haired girl with glasses and a sweater hanging over her shoulders. She was attractive. "What do you think?" she remembered him persisting.

Jo took a good look at the woman shaded by branches hanging low from a tree. Jo recognized her from the gym. She didn't know her name, but underneath her clothes was slim toned body that had just enough curve not to be dull. Corbin had smiled at her response and from there it became their game. She hadn't admitted anything for now it was a joke. Every girl had their rating. Although, it became clear to Jo that with any woman she gave a decent score or a second glance Corbin doubled efforts to claim her, hence slobbering over Madeline. Jo had made the mistake of awkwardly declining a study group invitation by their hostess. She assumed he saw something that she hadn't intended for him to.

"Boots St. Clair," he tilted his head admiring her shape. "I suppose it could be fun to find out where exactly she keeps that stick that's got her high strung."

A rupture of beer splattered everything near Jo on the island they were leaning on and Jo herself. The two women in front of them turned in their direction. Jo wiped at her mouth. "Wrong pipe," she offered sheepishly.

She glared at her friend, "I know where the stick is kept, but that's no man's land."

Corbin had already forgotten about Madeline. Jo could see it. Madeline saw it as well when he volunteered to take Boots home when she announced she was leaving. Jo grew excited by the thought of having Madeline to herself. She could even ignore the bubbles of slobber Corbin had left on her neck. She was glad to be rid of Boots and Corbin two birds one stone and all that. When Boots declined and stated Jo would take her home her dreams came crashing.

"You sure you don't want a nice strong man to see you home?" Jo was practically wrapping him in a bow for her.

She took one more look at him, as if considering him to be a better choice, but she made her decision. "That's why you're taking me Jo," she stated. Corbin's eyes narrowed as he looked at a dumbfounded Jo slapping her on the back triumphantly. Shaking her head she followed Boots not sparing the pair a second look. She followed Boots who moved through the throng of people uneasily. She caught her by her waist when she lost her balance and fell backward. "Come on," Jo leaned into her ear, "follow me." Jo took the lead maneuvering through the crowd with a little more grace than the heiress had. When rooms were filled passed capacity at her house parties in the Bronx, one picked up things.

Outside there was still a crowd, but as they moved closer to the cars the groups became small numbers of people taking a break from the noise. The night air brought a comfortable chill. Pushing her hands in the pockets of her coat she noticed Boots holding herself.

"Are you ok?"

Boots stopped in her tracks causing Jo to barrel into her. "What's that supposed to mean?" she didn't give Jo time to answer. "Just because I didn't grow up in some barrio doesn't mean I can't handle myself against dumb jocks and inconsequential cheerleaders."

Jo's brows rose, "I'm polish, and I was asking if you were cold," she clarified.

Turning on her heel Boots stalked toward the edge of where all the cars were parked. "Where am I going?" she asked not knowing which vehicle to walk towards. Jo walked passed her and collected the two helmets on the back end of her bike.

"What's that?"

Jo turned toward the woman. "It's a bike," she strapped on her helmet and handed the spare Blair usually wore to Boots.

"Is it safe?" she fingered the strap of the helmet.

"I'm still alive," Jo pitched getting on.

"You've been drinking."

"And if I were ten pounds lighter and a freshman then you'd have to worry." Boots took one step backward. Jo was done with the party and people in general for one night. She would leave with or without Boots. She preferred with, but she wasn't opposed to heading home without the detour. Boots looked to the house then at the back of one of her not so favorite people. She could see that Jo wasn't happy with the arrangement anymore than she was. She was determined not to go back inside and ask for a ride, not from Corbin. Jo would have to do. The brunette settled on the back of the bike her skirt draped the bike luckily it wasn't too long to get caught on the machinery.

"Go slow," she demanded.

Jo rolled her eyes. Boots wrapped her hands loosely around Jo's waist. "Tighter," Jo ordered, "Not unless you wanna fly off." Boots corrected the pressure. Jo started the bike moving slowly. She had had a few beers, but only enough to get a nice buzz to last her until she went to bed. She took precaution with her passenger in mind adhering to the speed limit.

On the back of the bike, when Boots finally let go of imagining all the ways Jo could crash them into a railing and end both their lives, she began to enjoy the ride. Jo's scent wasn't unappealing and air whipping around them was calming. She smiled to herself wondering why it hadn't occurred to her to ride a bike before this. She knew why. Because no one expected it of her least of all her mother, who would kill her if she knew. When Jo parked the bike at the curb of the sorority house she dismounted the machine. Jo turned to her waiting to hear how this was the most horrible experience of her life. Though, Boots would never admit that it was quite the opposite.

"Thank you even though I saw my life flash before my eyes every turn you took."

"Glad I could make you feel alive."

Boots shoved the helmet unceremoniously against Jo's chest causing the other woman to wince. "Night," she offered chipper. Jo watched her until the door of the house shut with her safely inside.

"Night."

That was the first evening Boots had seen Jo as more than just a stain on the perfect college experience. If she had been braver then that wouldn't have been the only time she'd ever ridden a bike. Though asking seemed a lot harder to do when it involved admitting she wanted to be around the Bronx native. The admission would have been difficult and she would have submitted to humiliation if anyone had found out she had sought her out. It was best for her more than anyone else that a ride like that never happened again especially if she asked. Her reasoning although sound to her ears hadn't stopped her from imagining herself on the back of the bike. She wasn't particularly sure if her body knew what it was responding to so close to her former classmate.

The sun washed over her. Her eyes were closed despite the shades she wore. Since college much of her youth was replaced by adult machinations, but tanning was a past time that she was unprepared to give up. The modest balcony was turned into a miniature haven to tan in peace.

Jo's accent wasn't thick and whatever boarding school and college had done to subdue her accent the city reversed. It was less harsh than some of the accents she'd heard in the city. Before her eyes opened to confirm the body blocking her sun was Jo she sighed annoyed, "you're in my sun."

"I've been invited to the newlywed's first dinner party," Jo slumped down delivering the news.

The brunette tilted her head in question, "what's does that have to do with you ruining my tan?"

The heiress was a little more carefree and less obsessed with social standing as she had been. It was one of the reasons Jo gathered why she and her spent so much time together. Since the night at Hogalvee's they found ways to make plans that involved the other.

Guiltily Jo was using Boots as her crutch. She was a link to Blair that she would never have again. Graham inhibited Blair's accessibility for Jo. It was a truth she had to live with now.

"You're gonna be my date."

Boots laughed, "Jo you're charm is irresistible," her glare was wasted behind her shades. "Besides you think I want to be seen with the likes of you?"

The detective sat on the adjacent chair, "you're goin'."

Boots lowered her shades, "you should make more demands. It looks good on you," the normally critical woman looked her new friend over. Yes, after such a short courtship they could consider their relationship amiable enough to call friendly. Boots knew that Jo had been avoiding everyone that reminded her of Blair. She could ignore the truth for as long as she wanted, but it was easier for Boots to accept what Jo wouldn't, Blair wasn't hers. Blair was never hers in any aspect of belonging.

"It's going to be hell," she whined.

The heiress sat up. Leaning back on her arms she eyed the reposed cop. She was wearing too many clothes for the heat, and yet she wasn't sweating. It reminded her of a question that needed to be asked. Though, she was more interested in bringing something else to light.

"If you're going to act like that you might as well not attend."

"Whadd'ya mean?" Jo queried thoughtlessly reaching for Boots' unattended glass to quench her thirst.

"You've gone through a lot to protect your best friend from your feelings. Acting like a child in their happiness, because you never had the guts to say anything is moot."

Jo stopped. Her proclivity for women was well known in a small personal circle of friends. She hadn't known Boots long enough to induct her. She decided to run with it, "that obvious?"

"Painfully," she exaggerated rolling her eyes. Boots only smiled standing, "you can see yourself out," she headed inside minus the robe that lay draped over her reclined chair. Jo watched her leave. She didn't need to remind herself that Boots wasn't Blair. The woman wouldn't let her forget.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

"How are women and tornadoes alike?" Scott asked from the driver's seat. Kolfee shook his head while Jo stood on the side of the street glaring at nothing in particular.

"If it's not gonna be pretty spare me," Jo answered talking into her sleeve, acting as if she were scratching her nose. She leaned against the stoop of a condemned building glaring at everyone who passed.

"They both moan like hell when they come, and take the house when they leave," he laughed.

Kolfee rolls his eyes at his partner.

Jo refrained from an overt look of disgust. "That reminds me, I haven't told you how much of a sexist ass you are today."

"Jo ouch," the shorter officer acted wounded.

"Scott bite me," she imitated his inflection.

Kolfee sat up in his seat sighting the reason Jo wore tight jeans sneakers and a stretch tee that stopped just above indecent. Paulo Jacobi was a small time burglar that supported his habit by stealing from the elderly.

"Two o'clock Jo," Kolfee warned.

"I see him," Jo let him pass her then started behind him. Scott jumped from the van. His latest victim was an eighty five year old lady named Rose that reminded Jo of a neighbor in her old neighborhood. She made one of the best apple pies she ever tasted. Putting the pie in the back of her mind she focused on the present.

Paulo from the back looked like a kid skipping school. His walk was as awkward as any teen she'd seen. He moved his left arm a lot as if it bothered him. She assumed it was because of a certain itch he needed to feed. This man beat an elderly woman into a coma she might never survive and there wasn't much of him to be impressed by. Addicts they were as detrimental to the city as rats. Her summer's home away from the boarding school she'd been sent off to she remembered coming home to addicts. One in particular stood out above the rest. It had been the summer that would lead to her senior year in Eastland. Time away left an even bigger culture gap between her friends and her second home. But the displacement that often happened after the first few weeks back in the Bronx left and Jo was Jo again.

The El Diablos had long been a moment of the past. The Diablos, a small time gang, they seemed larger than life in the eyes of a child desperate to belong somewhere. Most that made up the original band were dead, pregnant, addicts, or were serving time in prison. Jo could count one hand at how many got out to live as normal life as normal gets.

Scott exited the van to cut him off down the street. He looked like a runner. Paulo didn't disappoint when he noticed Scott headed towards him. Jo glared at her gray eyed partner. He looked like a cop hence he was never volunteered for undercover work. Cop was in his genes and the streets however it managed revealed who didn't belong. Unfortunately for him when he turned to run Jo had a foot out ready. The perpetrator fell face first the skin of his hands rubbed off on the pavement.

"You have the right to remain silent," Jo leaned over, but was blindsided by an elbow connecting with her face. Falling back the junkie sprang up and vaulted over Jo into an alley. Cursing aloud she matched his vigor and started after him with Scott close behind.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

When Blair insisted cooking herself, for her dinner party, Natalie didn't think she'd be roped into helping. However in hindsight she should have expected herself to be volunteered. The woman could maneuver through a kitchen, but if there was an extra hand nearby she was certain to use it. The reporter wore a floral apron placing the lasagna noodles delicately over the filling. Blair was cutting black olives for the side salads.

"So…" Natalie drew the word out in anticipation.

"No," Blair smirked.

"Aw come on, I'm making lasagna."

"You're helping make lasagna," Blair corrected, "out the kindness of your heart," she added. The heiress' eyes flew up under her eye lashes admonishingly.

"I don't think that was part of the deal." Natalie frowned as if recalling a silent contract, "no I specifically remember you bribing me with explicit details about the honeymoon."

Blair began tossing the salad. "A lady doesn't kiss and tell," flicking a lettuce at her finality.

"Try that line on someone, who hasn't spent the last two decades, seeing how unladylike you can be."

Blair wasn't giving in. The sound of the doorbell ringing caught her attention. Graham was in the study and would answer it. In a few moments she heard Dorothy greeting her husband and two sets of footsteps heading toward the kitchen. Her husband's body leaned against the island where Blair was working. He leaned down for a kiss that lingered longer than either anticipated.

Natalie and Dorothy shared a knowing look.

"Flustered cheeks, dilated pupils, heaving chests, all tell tale signs," Natalie jotted off dramatically as she held a lone noodle to be place on the top of the lasagna.

"Whatever do you mean Natalie?" the actress played along falling into step with her best friend.

Both women, fully aware they had an audience. They continued, "you know?" Natalie helped.

Dorothy looked completely perplexed, "know what?" The actress well aware she was being over the top took pleasure in the improvisation.

"You know," Natalie insisted this time with an inflection that even slowest of persons could appreciate.

"Wha…noooo..?"Dorothy's gasped her eyes wide from the scandalous accusation.

"They are making fun of us baby," Blair pouted.

Graham smiled hugging her from behind before he started back towards the study. "They're just jealous cause we're the ones getting laid tonight," he shouted over his shoulder.

He imagined his wife's blush and chuckled rubbing the back of his head where an olive connected.

"Heathen," she yelled teasingly to which he replied with a lone throaty laughter.

Dorothy leaned against the counter. Picking up a baby tomato with a stern look from Blair she retracted her hand before taking another. "Married life suits you," Dorothy complimented.

"Doesn't it," Blair conceded putting the lasagna in the oven to cook. Natalie placed her borrowed apron neatly over the counter staring at Blair. When the blonde stood she had two sets of eyes narrowing at her.

"What?" she said innocently.

"She's really gonna hold out on us," Natalie shook her head talking to Dorothy.

"After all we've been through," Dorothy sounded hurt. She placed a hand dramatically at her chest to illustrate her imagined injury.

"Is this how this evening is going to go?" The blond stopped what she was doing long enough to take in the merciless stares of her closest friends.

The two younger women shared a look, "depends," Dorothy supplied slyly.

The two story townhouse wasn't impressive in size Boots smiled. She tried to imagine the inside vaguely remembering her former schoolmates tastes. She checked her silver rolex watch for the time. Boots St. Clair was never early and yet she stood on the steps five minutes earlier than Jo had said. The intention was to arrive together. She found Jo's plan a bit quaint and decided to surprise Jo, it made things more interesting that way.

She wore a skirt that came just below the knees with the slit. Her blouse hung open slightly to show the pearls that Jo had admired one evening. Her ascent up the stairs was lackadaisical. When she rang the doorbell it was a matter of moments before tall dark and handsome answered the door.

"Hello," he smiled curiously. To his knowledge Blair had only invited her closest friends. This woman, however well dressed, was unfamiliar. "Can I help you?"

"St. Clair," she smiled making her way by him, "Boots St. Clair," she smiled at the décor. She wasn't displeased by the theme, although she would never admit it aloud.

"Where's your lovely wife?" Boots plastered a large smile. The sound of laughing answered that question, before Graham could. She held up her finger volunteering to guide herself through the home.

Closing the door silently behind him he shook his head. Blair was from a different world, and with down to earth friends like the three he already knew, he sometimes forgot about the socialites.

The laughter she followed to find the kitchen died down when she entered the room. "Warner don't you look domestic," she didn't like saying the same hello twice.

The blondes face darkened. "Boots? Wh..what are you doing here?"

Boots moved toward the counter sitting beside Dorothy on a black stool. "I'm Jo's plus one," she replied easily. "I gather she hasn't arrived yet," she made a show of searching.

Blair's eyes narrowed. Jo knew how special this night was for her. She wanted to reconnect with her friends after the chaos of the wedding and being gone. Boots was a past classmate from a time she thought better to forget, she wasn't that Blair anymore. In her mind she had moved passed shallow shopping sprees and belittling to feel fulfilled.

"Jo, our Jo?" Natalie jumped in.

The brunette stared at the trio oddly. "Is there some other Jo that was invited this evening?" she asked dryly.

"Maybe, because the Jo I know wouldn't be seen with you. She doesn't even like you," Blair responded on instinct.

"Oh come now Warnsy mind reader you are not. So why don't you let me tend to the detectives likes." She leaned against the counter pressing into it. She hadn't intended to be aggressive in her tactics. Her heart raced and she wanted to keep the sensation alive. Anger was euphoric and with Blair in her vicinity how could she not help herself?

Jo put this woman on a pedestal. For reasons that only make sense to the heart. In the eyes of a woman, who makes it a point to think with her head, Blair was flawed.

"The more the merrier," Natalie smiled moving closer to their unexpected guest.

Dorothy narrowed her eyes at her old friend recognizing the glint in her eyes. The reporter had a fix on a scent. And by the end of the night she would get to the bottom of the stench.


	3. Chapter 3

Jo trudged up the townhouse steps. She was late, very late. She tried to call Boots to warn her, but her attempts went unanswered. Jo entertained the idea that the brunette decided not to help. It had been no more than a few days since Blair's wedding, she couldn't expect more out of whatever is was they were doing. In any case she was here and would try to make the best of a not so great day. Her body hurt, her eye was partially swollen. Who knew the junkie had that much power behind such a scrawny frame. Then again the academy taught them to expect the anything from people

She held the cup of ice water to her face. It was the only thing she could find for her eye in a hurry. Ringing the doorbell she was determined to stay. Though the throbbing would only let that be for only a few minutes.

Jo's appearance reduced Graham's smile into a frown of worry after he swung the door open. Jo ignored it and moved passed him following the sound of the voices inside.

Graham followed, "you look like shit."

She smirked sardonically, "I look this way after a round with a junkie. What's your excuse?"

"Junkie?" Natalie's ears perked up.

"No comment," the detective replied sitting the cup down.

"Jo, what happened?" Blair gasped. Graham, who had disappeared in the kitchen, returned with a bag of ice.

Jo was about to blow off the question when she noticed worried eyes staring back at her. Those eyes could melt her. She opened her mouth to answer, but the sound of a familiar voice stopped her. When Dorothy and Boots entered the room Boots was the first one to take in Jo's ragged appearance. In moments Boots was at her side claiming the bag of ice Graham retrieved. She placed it softly on Jo's eyes hissing when Jo winced from the contact.

"Oh Jo," Boots crooned. Jo let the brunette baby her. Though, from the corner of her eye, she could feel the questioning gazes from everyone else in the room. "What happened?"

"Nothing," she shrugged d offhandedly.

Boots pinned her with a glare that demanded answers. Jo stammered at first, but found words that made her day sound less dire than it had been. "It's nothing," she tried to hold the ice for herself, but Boots wouldn't relinquish it.

"Joanna Polniaczek," she replied sternly. "You are not getting this ice." She pulled the ice away from the eye, "I'd hate to see the other guy," the side of her mouth curved upward.

Jo laughed, "I got a couple good shots in after he popped me."

"Good," Boots beamed.

Natalie smiled curiously changing seats to sit in front of Boots and Jo. "What's this?" she asked with the subtlety that only Natalie could. Jo eyed her up and down from her ice pack. Boots hadn't taken her eye off of Jo.

"What?"

"Natalie," Blair warned, even though she was just as curious to know why Boots St. Clair was fawning over her friend. They were mortal enemies in college when had that changed? Sure Boots have given her a brief retelling of an improbable romance with her Jo, but she took it as Boots overactive imagination and crazy.

"She means us," Boots clarified meeting Natalie's gaze, "someone forgot to tell her friends that she invited her girlfriend over for dinner."

"Yeah Jo, Boots of all people too," the writer interjected thoughtlessly. Natalie focused on Boots, "I have nothing against you, but believe me you are the last person I ever thought Jo would date."

Boots curiosity peeked at Natalie's candor, "I'd be interested in knowing who the first you thought of was." She couldn't help the knowing smile that crept up on its own volition.

Natalie blushed, a reaction the guest decided to keep to for personal musing.

Jo used the distraction to grab the heiress wrist moving the ice away. "What smells delicious?"

"Saved by the grumbling of a hungry stomach," she whispered so that only Jo could hear. The cop gave her a stony glare, warning her to discontinue knowing just how uncomfortable Natalie's assumption could get.

Dorothy jumped in, curious at her friend's sudden silence, but that didn't stop her from starting where Natalie left off. "When? How? Why?"

Boots took the lead turning a grateful smile to Blair then Graham, "you two are really the ones to thank." She began to tell her audience about the fortuitous arrival of a wedding invitation. Then from the wedding was the policeman's ball. Though, it started from a college crush that outsiders observed as dislike for the Bronx native.

"Isn't that sweet," Blair frowned. In college Boots' presence could be explained on most occasions by her persistence to recruit Blair, or make her life difficult. She wasn't sure how she felt about Jo being the object of Boots affections as far back as college.

Graham amused at his wife sat took his seat at her side. She wasn't getting her hourly dose of attention. Her withdrawals could get ugly if left unattended. "It's nice to know Jo looked after." He caressed his wife's shoulder as he spoke. "Street cops rarely get that luxury."

Jo's stomach growling was the perfect segue to finish the meal. Like Boots had promised she waited on Jo, of course they both drew the line at feeding her.

Dorothy still unsure about Jo's sexuality was despondent most of the evening never talking directly to either woman. Natalie the more curious of the two was completely enthralled in Jo's new romance. She even accepted an invitation for lunch with the socialite.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Jo sat in the car Boots had arrived in. Blair and Graham stood on the stoop waving everyone goodnight.

"That was odd," Blair stated as Graham closed the door behind them.

"What?" he questioned.

"That," pointed to the door separating them from the absurdity of Boots and Jo. "Those two," she visibly shuddered.

Graham frowned stepping toward her, "what's wrong with it?" He knew that she wasn't referring to their first two guests, because her mood has shifted when Boots walked in. As one of the first people that knew and accepted Jo's sexuality he didn't understand the reaction to their relationship.

"Boots isn't Jo's type," Blair stated as a matter of fact. She began wiping down the countertop, perhaps the monotony would help clear her head.

Graham chuckled, "since when do you know Jo's type." Precinct gossip put it in his head after she had shot him down for a date what Jo's 'type' was. When they were assigned cases together his loins were tamed by the realization Jo and he wouldn't be a fit. They were too much alike. When it slipped out one night during drinks what she liked she stared at him. He remembered the look wasn't fear, instead daring and anticipation. The expression seemed too deliberate to be a drunken confession. The day after Graham realized more about Jo in one night than the months prior on the cases they worked.

"I'm her best friend," Blair stated as if all that answered all the mysteries of Jo's universe.

"And I've had stakeouts with this woman." He turned to the door, "and she is Jo's type."

Crossing her arms she eyed her husband. "Your stakeout doesn't trump years of friendship."

"It does when you've got nothin' better to do, but talk women."

"Women? What women?" If Blair were honest with herself their conversations rarely ventured into Jo's love life—the detective didn't offer she didn't ask. How many women could there be? And how many of them could possibly have anything in common with Boots?

Graham paused, "women we dated," he shrugged picking at grapes from the bowl of fruit.

"Jo and I share meaningful exchanges," she defended haughtily.

"Evil glares don't count as meaningful exchanges baby. Besides, you're more occupied doing something else darling," Graham supplied. "Looking as beautiful as you do I don't blame you for being slightly self absorbed," he added playfully. He wrapped his arms around her.

She glared missing the inflection of humor, "excuse me?" she pulled away to meet his gaze.

"You're beautiful," he answered blankly.

"And self absorbed," she finished.

Damage control had come and gone. Blair had her eccentricities, but it worked for her, no other woman could have made it as endearingly sexy as she did. He never meant it as an insult, but before he could explain she was already headed up the stairs. A few minutes later she came down with his pillow and blanket. She met his gaze ignoring the confusion.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

She grew up with Jo and knew enough about Boots to have select insight on the improbable match. They didn't belong together. Would Boots take Jo to meet her family? Would Jo take her to the races with the smell of beer and ungainly human body odor? It was just as absurd as Jo and Blair together, but even she could reason, that the cop and she had a lot more to sustain them. Jo and Boots however, where was the lure? They were both attractive, but outside of sex….sex. That was it wasn't it? Seeing them together had given her a headache. The pain subsided a little when she reasoned her friend wasn't emotionally attached. She didn't delve on the why, but readied for bed, already making plans to retrieve the man she threw out of her bed.

"A little over the top, but I think I did well," Boots started as her limo pulled away.

Jo turned and kissed her. The detective imagined soft lips. Boots lips were indeed as soft as Jo could have imagined. She played with the bottom of her lip. Boots answered sinking her fingers in Jo's collar pulling her closer. Parting slowly Jo lowered her gaze to the lips she just kissed. She stared as clearly as she could as drunk as she was on those lips.

"Did you kiss me?" she heard her cohort question.

It seemed an odd question to ask since they were the only two in the back seat, but Jo answered the best way she knew how. Jo scoffed, "what'd it feel like?" Jo pushed her hair out of her face.

Boots pulled away, the divider was up thankfully. She knew Jo was always aware of her surroundings. It was hard to believe that Jo would kiss her without checking it. She wiped at her mouth.

Jo frowned at the action becoming confused. Had she misread the night? Had she misread all the innuendo leading to this moment? The wedding, the reception, Hogalvee's hadn't been figments of her imagination. She hadn't pegged her for the hot and cold type.

"I meant," she wiped looking at her smeared lipstick with a compact. "Were you kissing me or were you thinking about Mrs. Graham Birch?"

Jo opened her mouth to speak. Boots met her gaze daring her to lie. "I don't get you," Jo turned to look out the window.

Boots laughed darkly. "What's not to get? If not Blair, settle for a close second?" She had no illusions when she saw Jo on the steps of the church. Her consternation was clear. Her feelings weren't as hidden as Jo believed. Though she wasn't as content to be idle with her what she saw.

Jo glared, "I don't….."

"You don't have needs like the rest of us?" Boots helped. Jo opened her mouth, but Boots interrupted, "you don't like those needs to be fulfilled?"

"Not at the expense of others," Jo corrected.

Boots smiled, "since when are you concerned about my feelings?"

"I can stand being around you in a room without thinking about choking you. That says a lot."

"No it doesn't," Boots shook her head. "I'm a pretty woman you want to see on her back. And there are very few reasons I lay down so easily."

The cop didn't expect blunt. Sex was something that was spoken of in hushed tones. The only thing that stopped her from lowering her voice now included an image of Boots ridicule. The woman wanted her and for the life of Jo she couldn't immediately discern why. They had flirted. Though converging here hadn't been on her list of outcomes. This confidant alter ego was intimidating and intoxicating. It was hard to keep so close when Jo's instincts urged her to retreat. But her body wouldn't respond her mind was in a lust filled stupor she didn't want to climb out of.

"I'm a big girl Jo," Boots hands moved up Jo's leg. The brunette eyed the hand listening to the seductress as she spoke. "I don't want platitudes. The only acceptable terms of endearment are 'fuck me'. I'm interested in your body, your mind, and that lovely mouth. You can keep your heart to yourself."

As she spoke the force of her hand against Jo's center enunciated each sentence. There were several reasons for Jo to get out of the car now. Those reasons, however, were not as pertinent as the hand pinching and soothing her center. They were two different people with the same sensitivity to practicality. They weren't meant to fall in love. Their happily ever after wouldn't exist beyond carnality. As she drew closer for another kiss, Jo vaguely remembered acknowledging the metaphor of moth to a flame dancing in her head.

It wasn't Boots' intention to fuck Blair out of Jo's mind. The cop was too deeply infected for far too long to recover with only great sex to cure her. It was Jo's decision to be free of the woman who seemed to answer her with oblivious friendship. Happiness wasn't the heiresses concern, at least nothing more permanent than trysts in her bed from time to time.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Marshall Parent eyed the blonde with interest. Beauty and brains was an interesting concept when it came to the working women of the nineties. Though, no matter how intelligent the woman was, she was still a woman. To be seen and admired and occasionally heard. As he watched he realized he was missing out on the proposal. She wore large black rimmed reading glasses.

"Look Mrs. Birch, this meeting is a formality. Your family name is prestigious enough for my employer to consider working together. Marginalizing and profit share we can let the lawyers deal with that." He unbuttoned his black suit in illustration.

Blair frowned, "I thought we were the lawyers Mr. Parent."

"I mean the other lawyers," he reached for his scotch, "the ones that we take all the credit from."

Blair expected mind games and tests. The Parent family was notorious for testing their potential partners. They never invested until they were absolutely sure the company was sound.

"Pretty little rich girl working for her father's company. You're a cliché and you know it." He pointed to his own face, "I'm impressed by your use of props. But other than that I blanked out entirely on your proposal."

The blonde smiled. The folder she held open she closed slowly. "I expected subtlety."

"I like straightforward and simple," Marshall pointed out.

"In that case, Warner Industries isn't interested in games," she stood. "Tell your daddy to send a real lawyer, and not just a face."

Blair packed her things and walked out. She had wasted enough of her time preparing the proposal. Many sleepless nights were involved in the manpower she put into the research to make their company as attractive as possible to the Parent stores. Now she only wanted to get as far away as possible from the meeting she'd been anticipating for months.

The middle aged lawyer pursed his lips eying her departure. There were very few exceptions to his cynical perceptions. Mrs. Birch just proved to be one of them. He liked that.

Warner Textiles was a business venture his father had been flirting with for some time now. Bringing him in on it seemed to solidify some commitment. Marshall had a way with rattling cages and took pride in it. Blair Warner-Birch hadn't fed into his games. That said a lot about her character and the company that would have her represent it. Before the meeting he kept an open mind since he was in a similar situation. No one had taken him seriously and very few still did considering his job gave him certain liberties. Before he was a businessman he was his father's son, working for him.

He looked at his watch. He had forty five minutes before his father demanded his audience at the office. He visibly brightened noting off the number in his head as he headed to the bar to use the phone.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Natalie sat outside in the café sipping her latte she noted her changes. Her hopes of becoming a world famous globetrotting journalist; were sidetracked by her fascination with news as it affected society. What better way to be a driving force in that change than to have a magazine with loyal readers to be impacted by it. She'd been flirting with the idea for a while, perhaps longer in her unconscious mind. Every article she'd written or move towards delivering news was informed by a part of her what wanted to make the biggest difference.

She hadn't shared her ambitions with her closest friends yet. She was in the process of applying for a loan for the start up money. She wanted it to be a woman's journal. In her eyes it was an ode to the female in every aspect that a men's magazine celebrated male successes and ventures.

Boots opened the charm on her wrist pulling powder up to her nose with her nail. She closed her eyes letting the sensation wash through her. She didn't know how long she'd been reposed in tranquility. When her driver opened her door and the sounds of the city infiltrated her solitude she could have screamed. Instead her decorum took over. She allowed him to help her out. She stood to anchor herself. In the midst of finding her equilibrium she saw a familiar face and a flailing arm attached to it gesturing her over.

Managing her way through the sea of seats, chairs, and people she greeted Natalie when she was within earshot. She leaned down delivering two air kisses on the sides of her face.

"Wow," Natalie admired the woman's ensemble. Boots was glad for the sun. It gave her reason to keep her sunglasses on. "Jo's a lucky woman."

The brunette shrugged, "when you're lucky I'm most likely somewhere nearby. Have you ordered?"

Natalie shook her head 'no' turning to the menu when Boots began perusing her own. "It's been a very long time," the writer made small talk while they chose. Boots paused to answer when the waitress came to query about beverages.

"So have you become the world famous writer you fancied yourself to be?" she asked after ordering their drinks.

Her companion shook her head, "no, right now editorials fill my time when I'm not chasing a lead for that juicy story to skyrocket me to stardom."

"You haven't changed a bit," Boots offered a toothy smile.

Natalie wasn't sure if that was good or bad. Many things including insults could masquerade as a good intention, as long as it's delivered with a smile. "I know you married well. I also know it was a bust and now you're slumming it with one of my closest friends. What gives?"

"I really thought I'd be having this conversation with Blair," she admitted she sat back to take her company in.

Natalie shrugged. "She's doesn't own the rights to care about Jo. And it's not something that's going to stop now that you've entered the picture, again." Quirking her brow she wasn't sure what Natalie meant by again and asked the woman to explain. "In college," she started, "Jo's been in love with you for years."

The brunettes' eyes widened. She could recall a lot of things and Jo being head over heels for her wasn't one of them. "And you're telling me this because….?"

"I don't think you got them, the letters I saw, but they were the most vulnerable that I've ever seen Jo be." Natalie had mistaken Jo's book as hers. She flipped through the loose leaf and found ridiculously candid poetry written for someone authored by Jo. She never questioned it for fear of having her head bashed in. Jo was perfectly fine having everyone believe that she was too hard for emotions. Natalie knew different. Jo could be eloquent when in her own raw way.

"You ready to order?" their bubbly waitress asked with her pad and pen at the ready.

When the two finished their orders Boots took a sip of her drink with Natalie daring her to say something untoward. "I'm not out to hurt Jo," the woman offered honestly. Her curiosity of Jo's affections for Blair had grown. She wanted to read these letters.

"Maybe," Natalie conceded, "but at the end of the day I'm only one of many that you'll have to worry about if you do."

Boots held in the smile that threatened to take shape. She didn't think her company would appreciate it, especially with the seriousness to which she delivered her threat. "I don't doubt," she answered quietly. "Now, will I be eating with the pit bull for lunch or do I get civil conversation?"

The writer smiled. They branched from the only thing they had in common, Jo, to other aspects of Natalie's professional and Boots' personal life. Boots wasn't use to being the one that being told she wasn't good enough. She envied Jo for that and she wasn't even sure if Jo fully appreciated it.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Hungry and anxious Paulo sauntered down the precinct steps with as much of a congenial gait as he could manage. His bail had been posted. His jaw flexed as he rubbed his arms harder as if fending away a cold, when it was quite warm. His night had been sleepless thanks to his cellmates. A man, large from overindulgence, volunteered a smaller cellmate to keep him company for the evening. Flesh smacked against flesh and the muffled whimpers of pain seemed to lull the room to silence. Paulo knew what was happening, but chose to ignore it, he was happy he wasn't on the receiving end.

His lungs filled with air satisfyingly. He was out.

From the corner of his eye he saw a man walk around a dark blue sedan. He opened the door for Paulo to enter. Walking toward him he ducked his head in before he let his body follow. Seeing a familiar face he beamed and scurried into the seat beside him. He didn't notice the sound of the ignition or the subtle jerk of the vehicle moving away from the curb. Paulo was blind to the world around him when he pushed the needle in his arm. He settled into the seat. The leather, in his mind, was replaced by feathers letting him sink even further in the warmth of nothing.

His companion watched in silence as the junkie took the syringe without question. There was nothing endearing about Paulo or junkies like him. They were a means to an end and one part of his employee pool he didn't like to deal with. That meant he needed to get his hands dirty. His work made him highly paranoid and his reputation made him protective.

In his eyes he wasn't so bad. He'd let Paulo think he was experiencing a high that would be as harmless as the others that fed his addiction. He wouldn't even break his visage of indifference to hint that the potency of the drug was intended to kill him. The junkie would be oblivious to his body being thrown from the car.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

In the privacy of her own mind Blair could entertain that she was right. Jo was just having fun. Though, in a dark place that she would never admit existed, she knew her mind could skew the reality. Jo had told her so on many an occasion. As the thought marinated of Jo and Boots as a couple the after taste grew bitter. The distractions of her day lost their ability to distract. She found herself directing her car to a less plush part of the city. What was Jo thinking? No one could answer that question except for Jo herself.

The precinct was an old musky building built in the early 1970s. The hall smelled of a bleach and something faint she assumed the smell of bleach was meant to surpass. She could only imagine the smell the heavily bleached hallway was trying to mask, considering how television portrayed the type of people sent here. The robust man at the front desk looked her over with a bored stare. She looked and smelled too good for the outdated décor. It was Herman's experience never to ask when broads came in to slum. It took less effort to hear things through the grapevine than to be proactively nosey.

"What can I do you for ma'am?" he asked looking up from the magazine under his paperwork.

"I'm here to see detective Jo Polniaczek."

He gave her a second once over. He made a point to look through a book and pulled it in front of her. Directed to the third floor Narc division she nodded her thanks and went to find her friend.

The night before, when Graham shared that he knew things about Jo she didn't upset her, to be honest, it upset her more than the self absorbed comment. She'd grown up with Jo. And though they had grown apart because of their different lives it didn't mean she had lost faith in their connection.

She headed up the stairs too distracted to see the signs for the elevator. She collected her thoughts on why she had come. Why had she? It wasn't to give her blessing. She came to understand. She needed to understand, why it was so important, she wasn't sure.

"Hey," Kolfee shouted from the opening of the elevator. He was juggling bags as he walked toward her.

Blair frowned unable to recall his name. She remembered him from the wedding he and his friend had made an impression. The darker man taking mercy on her smiled.

"You looking for Jo," he moved passed her to a corridor she walked by. He opened the door on the left and among the stacks of paper and photos of unmentionables were his two colleagues. They practically attacked the bags when he sat them down.

Blair followed at a sedate pace to observe her friend in her work setting. As a beat cop Jo shared almost every experience frustrated by the sexism and the malice of crime. They didn't have late night heart to hearts anymore. Had Boots replaced her as a confidant?

Her eyebrows hiked when she saw Jo looking at her calling her name. Why was she so distracted?

"I don't mean to intrude," she ventured waving weakly.

"Well hello," Scott momentarily put his appetite aside to flirt. Kolfee and Jo exchanged a knowing look. He was too inebriated at the party to realize who he was flirting with much less that he had gone to her wedding. Blair hadn't made the same forgiving deduction remembering his attendance.

"I'm Scott, and you are…" he waited for a name.

"Happily married," Blair finished, watching his smile fall when she continued, "To your ADA I believe."

He pulled his hand away from hers letting it fall gracelessly at her side, "oh." He turned on his heels and returned to his food.

Snickering Kolfee bit into his egg roll. He was even more amused at Scott's confusion. Jo walked her outside closing the door behind them. Blair leaned against the window while Jo claimed a corner of the seal for her own. "What's up?"

The socialite hadn't practiced what she would say even as the reason why she had come hadn't been forgotten. She could smell a perfume wafting from Jo that would quite literally cost the detective two months' salary to afford.

"I've never been here before," she read the narcotics unit on the door that Jo had closed. "When did you get promoted?" she nodded towards it.

Jo followed her gaze and shrugged, "it's not so much of a promotion. We're a fairly new unit hence the cozy corner and manpower of three."

"I didn't know," she lowered her eyes. Did Boots know?

"You've been busy, we all have," Jo assured. She didn't want Blair to feel needless guilt when it had been her intention not to share. Drugs were a sensitive subject. Jo grew up around it and lost friends because of it, it felt right being there, even though they weren't always accepted. It was one of the reasons that ventured to the police academy.

Blair turned her gaze to the window and the alleyway, "great view."

Jo smirked darkly. The view was more than it appeared to be. Just below was the side door of the detainment cells. Someone got an eyeful when the certain offenders were escorted out for fresh air. The spot made it ideal because it was obstructed on both sides from prying eyes. However, no one ever took in consideration the window above. Jo knew the usual suspects who took liberties in the shadows and steered clear of them.

"You didn't come here to admire the view Blair," Jo reasoned, "everything ok?"

"No," she shook her head, "something has been bothering me."

Jo pushed her thumb through the space between her belt and her jeans, "something or someone?" she helped to clarify. Blair met her gaze wanting to smile. So very few were privy to the intimate Blair and those that were weren't always adept. "What's goin on in that head of yours?"

"It's your head that I think needs scrutinizing Jo," she adjusted the jacket over her arm.

Jo waited for the heiress to continue, and she did not disappoint. After explaining that she was more than surprised that relations, as she put it, between Boots and Jo had begun at her wedding she was equally unpleased. "You know I'd be even more worried if it wasn't just sex," she stated with a breath of relief.

The detective tilted her head, "and if it was more?" Jo's imagination wasn't as fantastic to entertain the thought. It didn't stop her from letting Blair making assumptions. She enjoyed seeing the side of Blair that resembled the mature version of worry, jealousy.

"I've been informed that you're an adult but I can't say that I see what they do."

"You're married for not even a month and that ring on your finger's got you delusional and self righteous."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Blair was losing her temper at the insinuation. "Are you mocking my marriage?"

"I didn't say that," Jo side stepped, "its bull that you throw it in my face like more has changed than a name. So what you're wearing different jewelry," Jo picked up the hand and Blair yanked it away just as quickly.

It was selfish Jo knew it and as soon as the words came forth she regretted them. "Princess…" Jo started but Blair's glare cut her off. The endearment wasn't welcome.

"What do you have against me being happy? I want you to be happy too Jo," Blair countered sadly.

"I am." Jo answered numbly, she was as happy as she could be under the circumstances.


	4. Chapter 4

There are moments in life where people realize reconciling who they want to be with whom they are is impossible. Life veers people off the track that the mirage of their fantasies creates. Jo wondered about how her mind worked in the throes of passion. One moment she was enamored by the flesh and the next fascinated by a thought. Boots arched her back as Jo pulled on her hair with her left and sank her right in her folds.

"You are a wonder…" Boots breathed under her breath when she managed to catch it. She straightened up her skirt and turned in the back seat of the cruiser. She smiled at the sight of Jo in uniform. The cop was far from pristine. Her uniform had more creases than it had when she first picked her up on the side of the road. Losing the smile she turned shy and played innocent, "can I go now?" she asked uncertainly.

Jo held herself up by the back of the seat and the metal that separated the front from the rear passengers. Her uniform hung open and sweat matted hair to her head. Holding herself up on the leg bent on the seat she shook her head no. "I haven't finished getting what I want."

The socialite turned sexy hitchhiker looked down at the belt. Hands reached to undo her pants. Boots eyes met Jo's whose head nodded in acquiesce. She wanted, no needed, this. With one touch she could be made to do anything this woman willed, and she was supposed to be the one in control. Jo had never indulged in games or met a woman that had so many fantasies about being someone else to be fucked senseless. Jo didn't mind. She enjoyed it.

A finger reach away from Boots intended target and the radio screeched to life. Jo yanked from her lust filled stupor frowned at the call for all nearby units to a familiar address. Forgetting what she wore the uniform for she moved from the back seat to the driver. Putting on the siren she sped west.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Murder with its fundamental reasons makes life less precious with weaknesses like money or love overtaking the reigns of reason. Graham knew those weaknesses very well as a cop and a prosecutor. Too many cases were cut and dry when the motives were based off love or money. People were that simple and that complicated. It started like all cases do, with a body. The epidemic of drugs branded the metropolis. The ill repute transcended the city to the man elected to run it. Graham whether he liked it or not would become the scapegoat if he failed the mayor's latest campaign on drugs.

The alleyway was blocked off by cars with blaring lights to warn off curious onlookers. A patrol officer greeted the ADA grimly filling him in.

"A lowly junkie bringing out our favorite D.A. at this time of night," Scott eyed the man in his sweats, tee, and overcoat from over the dead body.

Kolfee didn't bother standing and eyed the coroner studying the body with impartial pale gloves. He had died with his eyes opened. White froth crusted on the side of his mouth. He was found on a hill of trash bags, but it would be predetermined the body had been moved. There were witness reports Paulo had collapsed in the opening of the alley. While others stated they say the body on the sidewalk away from the trash. In every recollection the body had been nowhere near the trash in the alley. A crowd had already milled about the yellow tape that closed off the scene to contaminants.

The victim wore fewer clothes than when he was released. Kolfee could only guess that whoever bailed him out did so just to keep his mouth shut. The clothes he assumed were from scavengers. That didn't bode well for the integrity of the crime scene. He didn't look like there had been foul play.

"Wasted life," the coroner muttered under his breath. Kolfee's eyes rose to the toneless doctor. It was easy to make judgments on people with half of the story staring them in the face with lifeless eyes. What people fail to miss are the twists and turns of the path taken that crash unceremoniously into deaths door. That isn't to say that Kolfee sympathized with him. The man made his living assaulting the elderly to get high. Though, it was easy for someone who worked with dead bodies to dismiss potential.

"What are we doing here?" Boots frowned at the crowd and the siren lights. She wrapped a blanket around her body self consciously as curious eyes looked inside the cruiser.

"Stay here," Jo stated. She hadn't had time to change, but her uniform would do. It got her through the yellow tape without having to flash her badge to an overzealous rookie pushing people back.

Graham side stepped the crime scene to meet with Kolfee, who stood by chewing on a toothpick. "What the hell? Didn't we pick him up?"

Kolfee nodded stepping away from the prying eyes of his partner. "Someone posted his bail. Cash. I haven't checked the precinct cameras yet."

"Do that," Graham liked the idea with Kolfee one step ahead of him. "We're getting close." The dead body of Paulo was a testament to how close.

The street urchins were as predictable as the stench that wafted from the sewers. No one would say what they had seen if they'd seen anything. It was a silent rule that the streets were faithful to. But this wasn't the world that the A.D.A was interested in breaking through.

Scott chewing on a toothpick stood over the body taking notes and the coroner continued her cursory look of the body. "What the hell," Jo breathed when she realized whose body she was standing over.

Scott turned his head to the newcomer doing a double take on her wardrobe. "I'm all ears," he looked pointedly at her uniform.

Dharma looked up at the two detectives before she stretched her legs from her crouched position. "Evening Jo," she greeted.

The officer nodded in return. She was angry, beyond it to be honest. Paulo was supposed to be a lead. They'd sweat him out for a few hours and then he would have spilled his guts to them. Now his lifeless guts and the rest of him told of a more macabre tale that didn't end in a confession.

"Good of you to join us Jo," Graham couldn't keep the annoyance out of his tone. It wasn't Jo's fault there lead was dead. But she was late and that was all the reason in the world to let the shit fly. Jo could see him eye her uniform as curiously as Scott.

"At least it's one less addict is on the street," Scott noted the silver lining despite how morose.

"I would've liked if this one had stayed alive," Graham glared. "Now we're back to square one."

"I'm guessing he was smart enough to let the drug do his dirty work." Jo stated not anticipating any hard evidence to link it to the culprit.

"I don't see why you came to the crime scene since you have all the answers," the attorney sniped. The brunette darkened. She was familiar with the majority of Graham's moods. She knew he was stressed. Downtrodden with the expectations of a city Graham was losing the charm of the street that endeared him to Jo in the first place. Was she overreacting? "Tell me Jo was it the Colonel in the study with the knife?"

"Don't be a dick," Jo growled.

"At least I'm not thinking with mine."

"Back off Graham."

"Or what? I wouldn't want you to be guilty of doing what the city pays you for. I want this guy," Graham stared down at the body being carried away in a body bag. "And I want results," his gaze landed on Jo.

Drugs were in the hottest stories of the year. Though there were stragglers of journalists looking for a shot of a dead body this story wouldn't end up on the front page. The mayor's unofficial war on drugs consisted of the small unit that Jo belonged. They were the poster children for change, but their precinct didn't seem as nearly impressed as the mayor had with his vision.

They had a date with the coroner in the morning. Jo dismissed herself when the body was toted away. Kolfee followed catching a glimpse of the woman in the front seat of a cruiser Jo was about to get into. "He's under a lot of pressure."

Jo looked as if she wanted to say more, and she did, but the words wouldn't come out. Instead she settled for, "I'll see you tomorrow."

She wasn't a stranger to getting chewed out 'just because'. She didn't like being the target of her friend's anger, because his junkie was killed. It was unofficial at best, but the ones close enough to the case knew better than to be content with the C.O.D. as overdose.

"Are you ok?" Boots asked when Jo returned to the cruiser.

The dark haired woman shrugged. She started the car focused on the dark of the night as she riding familiar streets as she took her companion home. Boots leaned against Jo as she drove. The ride was quiet and in her mind she felt as if contact had calmed the waves of indecision in the cop. Boots had never considered her as a comfort to anyone, but Jo let her think she was if only for a forty five minute drive back to her apartment.

"We're here," Jo whispered.

Boots looked up and around and they had indeed arrived. "We're you coming up?" Jo contemplated staying the night. She didn't particularly want to be alone and Boots would oblige her with distraction. Though she had a cruiser to turn in and by the time she came back it would have been too late to return.

"Says who?" Boots challenged in invitation.

Jo smiled. It was the first since she'd left the crime scene.

"I'll see you later, thanks," Jo had already made sleeping arrangements in her head. She had to work tomorrow and she always had an extra pack of clothes in her locker downstairs for special occasions in the tombs. The cots they had would be hell on her back, but it was only for a few hours. Once she closed her eyes and became dead to the world the pain wouldn't be noticeable until she stood in the morning.

"Fine," Boots shrugged kissing Jo gently before she made her way into her building.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Autopsies' were as cold and lifeless as the bodies chilled in the coolers. Kolfee wasn't as bothered with dead bodies as Jo and Scott were. His uncle had been a mortician for thirty years up until his suicide at fifty three. Whenever his parents needed a babysitter they dropped him off at his uncle's house that doubled as his mortuary. Scott and Jo both lacked his background even though he never would have wished it on anyone. The first couple of weeks he had nightmares about the living dead. He never mentioned them to his parents, he didn't want to seem like anymore of a burden than he felt.

Brown eyes stared at the body on the slab. The victim was D.O.A., but investigators insisted on an autopsy before they treated it like an open and shut overdose. Kolfee watched the doctor examine the body with detached fascination. Dharma Warren was a forty three year woman who transferred from a precinct in Chicago. She had no family and nothing to keep her in the windy city except work that she was growing tired of. She would say when people would ask, and it was too often that they did, that she was looking for a change of scenery. The city was beautiful, but she rarely saw much of it in the catacombs of the morgue or in the solidarity of her studio apartment.

Her resume at a glance made her over qualified for the job. But the understaffed precinct would rather hire over qualified employees than unsuitable. As an interesting character to cross paths with in the morgue, few ventured below unless truly necessary. Her wild curly hair was bound by a blue cap and her body was covered protectively from the elements brought in by the body.

"Detectives," she nodded. She rarely smiled.

"Whatcha got?" Scott stood the furthest away. He could handle dead bodies. His only apprehension was the eyes that seemed glued to his ass whenever he was around the odd doctor.

"No signs of bruising, no struggle, looks like just another overdose. I've got a blood work pending, but without that, for now, it's what you see what you get."

Kolfee stared down at the body. The poor bastard was dead before his bail was paid. He was just too content to finding his next high to notice. Jo didn't expect anymore than what the corner offered. There dealer was smart enough to elude police so far.

Marshall Parent was escorted into Blair's office by her temp. Her regular secretary was out on sick leave. Blair was at first annoyed by the inconvenience of getting someone acquainted with the machinations of her preferences at the office. She didn't consider herself an anal employer, but she did expect the closest form of perfection her employees could provide.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

"Pleased to see you again Mr. Parent," Blair greeted. The dark haired man strode in the office out of place, but curious. His phone call yesterday had been a welcome surprise. While she didn't particularly care for the man, she was definitely interested in his business. Warner branching out to different distribution agencies meant customers more access to their product. Throw in a little marketing, packaging, and impromptu publicity and the beauty of advertising, however expensive, works its magic.

He smiled leaning in to shake the Warner heiresses' hand. The blond settled back in her seat leaning against the red jacket thrown over the back of her chair. Marshall admired her. It was in his nature to notice quality. She was practically raised in a boarding school. When she wasn't getting the best education money could buy she spent most of her time in the city or abroad. She was a perfect balance of beauty and brains both of which she could attribute to being the daughter of her parents. And while she was pleasing to gaze upon her brains were of more interest to him at the moment.

"What do I owe this visit?" Blair asked particularly curious since their last encounter had been so brief. The phone call she received yesterday had been to only leave a small block of time open for a meeting at her office.

Clearing his throat he began to explain that he was impressed with the lawyer from her reputation. It wasn't in his nature to go by word of mouth, even though it was the reason for their first meeting. His father was an impatient man. A brilliant business mind that rarely tolerated error. They were meticulous in their business dealings, "please excuse my charade," he held up his fist waving an imaginary white flag.

The lawyer waited to accept it. She didn't like to be toyed with even if the outcome was in her favor. She didn't enjoy being questioned because of the insecurities of a pretender and his company, but she knew to do business come eccentricities had to be tolerated. Blair well aware of the family's penchant for tests walked eyes wide open.

"You've come to do business then?" she wanted to clarify, before her hopes rose that the content of the meeting would involve commerce.

Marshall didn't disappoint. He handed over a contract he trusted Blair to read about a proposal of Warner Textiles supplying their wholesalers with products they would distribute in their stores. "I assure you they're adequate," he offered as she began to read.

She moved her eyes briefly over each page. "I'll have my answer by the end of the week," she replied. This was her account and she'd be damned if it were ruined because she was overzealous to read a contract thoroughly. He looked at the contracts and then the young woman who arrived out of nowhere to escort him out. Blair only smiled thinly wishing him well that evening. She could only imagine how that evening would be spent. While she eyed the contract long after he left she her eyes were not seeing the words. She saw the picture framed by Versace boots and a designer heel.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

"Wow Blair this is beautiful," Dorothy admired the drawing of Jo on her bike. Natalie came around with a bowl of cereal to lean over Dorothy's shoulder. She shook her head in approval since her mouth was full.

"Talent just makes things work out that way," she noted leaning one hand on her hip while the other leaned on the table taking a cursory look over her sketches.

"Whoever accused you of talent Blair?" Boots strolled in the kitchen with Mrs. Garret on her heels. Jo, who had made it a point to ignore all of them behind the comfort of a book, lowered it.

"Boots what do we owe this surprise? Are you lost, I'd be glad to show you the door," Blair offered looking up from her work.

Undaunted Boots answered with zeal, "Mrs. Garret volunteered to cater a shindig that our sorority is hosting for the homeless." She stepped over to the couch that Jo took over. She held a tablet to her chest with her purse on her arm and cleared her throat. Waiting for Jo to take the hint the rest of the room was curious as to what Jo would do. After a few moments of indecision the bright blue socks were sliding back to make room for Boots to sit. Jo didn't move from reading her book. She decided to ignore the questioning looks she felt on her.

"Well this is an itinerary that I have sectioned for the day of the feast. I have everything color coded just in case there's some confusion. And I have a model for what each color stands for just in case it gets a little complicated for you."

"How helpful," Dorothy offered slowly picking up the tablet loosely.

The brunette perked up needlessly, "I know," she stated, "I live to help."

"Could you quiet down mother Theresa I'm trying to read," Jo glared never lifting her head from her book.

Boot acknowledged Jo for the first time since she arrived. "Oh, Jo I hadn't even realized you were in the room. I'm so use to you stomping around ready to bash someone over the head with a two by four."

Jo slowly lowered her book. "The two by fours been collecting dust, but I can take it out of retirement if you miss it so much."

"I wouldn't want you making a fuss over little ole me. Especially since you're spending so much of your energy on that book—not enough pictures for you?"

Jo moved to sit up, but Boots rose before Jo could advance. "You can just leave the tablet here Boots and the girls and I can look over it," Edna moved between her and Jo.

The bouncy brunette lifted her eyes from Jo and gave the adopted matriarch a winning smile stating that there were errands that needed her immediate attention. "Toodles," she waved frivolously.

The word to come to mind when Boots remembered her childhood, would have to be frivolous. Money came and went as did insults, beliefs, and boys. Everything that seemed permanent wasn't. It took a hard two year divorce to discover that fact. Winston had been a catch from Yale. Through mutual friends they met and after pseudo chance meetings after the first encounter the courtship began in earnest. He wooed with his wavy red hair and she fawned over every gesture. She was blinded by the hopeless romantic when she should have taken care to see the former suited him most. Hopeless he was to the will of his family and any skirt within his reach. Hopeless to the concept of a backbone, the lack of one was one of the first signs of weakness for the soon to be newlywed.

Sound decisions are reduced to after thoughts when love is involved. And what little she knew of love at the time those signs weren't as important as what Boots imagined for her future. If she had known what she knew then her life would be much different. The path not taken haunted her, but she stayed the course because it was the only one she was told to live.

Love was a romantic notion she didn't have time for. But she could live with lust, hell she could marry it. Carnal desire left less carnage than roses and poetry. Running her nail on the pale buttocks of her lover she smiled at how it twitched under her touch. Jo turned sharply planting a hard lustful kiss on her lover's lips.

"You tryin' to get arrested for attempted murder?" Jo breathed into the kiss lowering her body until she was crouched in front of the socialite.

The brunette giggled deepening the kiss wrapping herself around the firm frame of her own Cagney. "Do I get to be handcuffed?" the woman husked.

Jo pushed up with her legs leaning Boots back on the bed. "If you want," Jo admitted game.

"I want to fuck you."

Jo pushed her head back with her face, "no," she growled into her neck careful to leave as little damage as possible. Boots moaned angrily considering Jo unfair as she pulled away to put her clothes on.

"Must you leave me wanton?" the woman watched from the edge of the bed wishing Jo would return.

The detective sat on the bed to put on one boot then the other. All the while she restrained herself from submitting to the feminine wiles of her wealthy siren. "Blair doesn't know what she's missing," the brunette breathed into Jo's ear with the tip of her tongue on the lobe.

Jo pulled away, "what?" She turned to eye her lover. That was when Jo saw it, the younger mischievous Boots was now older but just as mischievous as before, if not worse.

"You're body, the way you touch me, the way you let me touch you. I don't even want to let you out of bed."

Jo turned her head. She didn't withhold the smirk on her face, however she wondered if Blair would be as impressed.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Jo hated to stand still. She hated it with a passion. When Blair asked her if she would pose for her still life drawing class she had said yes. What happened to the early days where it was easier to blow the blonde off with no? Wherever they had gone Jo missed them desperately. It was day of and she contemplated her ability to actually stand still. She'd passed by the drawing class on her way to college Algebra. Looking through the windows the school chose in place of wooden walls. The room was a mess of organized chaos. Charcoal, paint, and paper filled the ceiling high cubicles with other art materials Jo didn't recognize. Blair had one request for Jo to bring something that screamed 'Jo'.

She circled the school moving to the back entrance where the art building was. She maneuvered her bike on the sidewalk smiling at the curious glances of collegiate passerby. The art teacher said he would leave the door open for her to ride through. He hadn't disappointed. When she informed him what she would bring to pose with he had no objections. The class erupted in amusement as she rolled the bike to the big x where models were to stand.

Blair eyes widened when she saw her best friend riding in as carelessly as she had run over their mentors' flowerbed in their early years of Eastland. Shaking off the nostalgia she stared at her friend and then her pad wondering if she wanted to do a landscape or portrait.

"The friends that you have Warner," a red head Drama major named Lenny leaned in grinning.

The blonde heiress shrugged, she was use to Jo's antics, but she liked that her classmate seemed impressed. It was hard not to be drawn to Jo even if they only occasionally got along. Jo decided to wear her black Peacoat opened with dark blue jeans and distressed black boots. Underneath the coat she wore a gray thermal with the top two buttons undone. Her hair hung to her shoulders. After she was instructed to relax into a pose that she could hold comfortably for thirty minutes students moved around positioning themselves and their pads in ideal vantage points.

"Where've you been hiding her, she's beautiful," Louisa, one of her classmates, asked as she settled near Blair. The blonde was use to her overt appreciation of the men and women that posed for the class. The smile of intrigue in Louisa's eyes left her even prouder of her choice for the class assignment. From a lack of volunteers the teacher proposed that they bring in subjects. They were only asked to come as they perceived themselves. That could involve a prop or clothing or a pose.

There was no questioning that Jo was an attractive woman. She had a demanding presence it was that same presence that everyone tried foolishly to emulate. Her eyes stared at nothing in particular as she heard pencils scratching the surface of the paper. The room was silent accept for those sounds and the occasional suggestion made by the instructor. He pointed out lighting and angle and features of Jo that were pivotal to capturing the essence of the rider.

Jo felt all the eyes on her. She wasn't one for stage fright, but being the center of attention was Blair's thing not hers. Her thoughts veered to a distraction. She'd been invited by a buddy of hers on the lacrosse team. The host was a cute behavioral science major named Madeline. She wondered briefly if Blair would be going, but outside of living under Ms. G. roof and bumping into each other by chance at school they rarely saw each other. Blair had chosen to sit in front of Jo at an angle where it was still easy for her to see her. Jo wondered what she saw in her that made her ask Jo to pose for her.

In thirty minute intervals she posed and they sketched for the remainder of the class. After the second thirty minutes she stretched longer than she had the first while she heard papers being moved for blank pages. Posing had sounded so easy, perhaps too easy. Her body was becoming accustomed to each pose and stretching was an orgasmic chore.

That had been years ago. Jo doubted she had the same patience as she did to pose for the class, but if she was honest with herself she knew if Blair asked she would rise to the occasion. Blair had always been a weak spot far longer than she cared to acknowledge. Those were simpler times. However brilliant she thought she had been hiding her true feelings were dashed by Dorothy's admission that she had been all too aware. Had Blair? It was hard for the blonde to see something right in front of her if it entailed taking the attention off of her for a few moments. Chuckling at the thought the smile had been the first thing to greet the blond as she walked out of the elevator doors to her car.

Jo sat on her bike having retrieved it from her uncle's safe keeping for just this purpose. She wanted to reconnect with her best friend. The woman lawyer slowed and then half circled the bike parked beside her sedan. "Are you lost?"

The smile that had been plastered on her face awkwardly rose confidently. "Yes, but it is better to travel than to arrive….or something or other," Jo added her Bronx flare.

The blond shook her head unlocking her door. Glancing at Jo with her lips stubbornly drawn in a line, Jo was undeterred by her somber friend. Years of getting on each other's bad side came with the perks of timing. Blair was predictable with her anger as she was ritual with her last minute primping for bed, as if the paparazzi would attack in her sleep.

She eyed her friend's backside as she placed her suitcase securely on the floor behind the driver chair. She feigned cleaning off her bike seat for Blair to sit when the lawyer turned around again. Plastering on her best behaved smile she waited for the Blair to mull over forgiveness even though she knew she already had it. If she didn't her old roommate wouldn't have spared her a word. The silent treatment was childish, yes, but Blair wasn't above it.

"You can wipe that seat down all you like, but I'm not getting on that wearing Armani," she held one hand on the top of the door and the other on her hip. Jo wasn't a fool to believe that Boots could cure her of the drug that was Blair. At the simplest of gestures the blonds quintessential mannerisms struck a chord in Jo playing a tune the detective knew by heart, lovesick. The first two buttons of her ivory blouse were unbuttoned letting Jo's imagination fill in the blanks. She was sexuality and class in the form of Aphrodite incarnate.

"Didn't think you would princess," Jo pulled the bag from the back of the bike handing it to her.

The lawyer stared at the proffered bag questioningly. "I'm not wearing that either," she stated as seriously as she had stated objecting to riding in her work clothes.

"Inside it," Jo explained shortly.

She pulled it from Jo's willing grasp eyeing her friend warily before she unzipped it to look inside. She pulled out changing clothes all in her size she assumed. Jo had come prepared for all of Blair's objections it seemed. She didn't like to be predictable, but for Jo to know her so well she didn't mind as much.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

"Do you still draw?" Jo asked when she shut off the engine at a nearby gas station. Jo hadn't wanted a conversation. Words were already dangerous, but they were downright lethal when it came to Blair. So they rode. No conversation just the wind and the city to keep their thoughts occupied from the rest of the world. The gas station, if Jo were being honest with herself, was only to stall for more time with the lawyer.

The blond leaned back, "what brought that up?" she stretched knowing she hadn't touched pastels in a very long time.

Jo looked pointedly her bike. It hadn't been the same model as the one Blair had drawn all those years ago. Blair followed her gaze smiling fondly. The machine had been a surprise for her, but if she had to think of something that Jo would bring it made perfect sense. Jo wasn't mechanical by any means, but the representation of the machine itself fit the rider. Jo went inside to pay for the gas.

Another bike came up beside them. A hog with a burly driver and a fair headed rider at the back stopped at the pump on the other side. The driver smiled at Blair for far longer than she would have liked. Even as she turned her head she could feel his eyes on her as he took off his gloves.

"Somethin' wrong wit' ya eyes?" She heard the rider say in a high pitched voice.

The voice of the driver was deep as she answered with the same attitude, "just enjoying the view darlin'. Aren't you the one that said New York was a hell'of a city?"

"Bastard," she growled under her breath, but not low enough.

Blair spotted Jo coming out of the store and a sigh of relief escaped her. It wasn't the tattoos that scared her even though the skull eating a baby was very creepy. No, the glint in his eyes took the proverbial cake and she was ready to get back on the road. Whistling Jo started pumping unaware of Blair's discomfort.

"You didn't want anything did you?" Jo asked turning around. She had forgotten to ask before she went inside.

"No, thank you baby," Blair delivered the unexpected words in a husky timbre.

At that the burley stranger frowned and turned on his heel to head into the store to pay for his gas. Jo turned slightly to watch him leave. Then she noticed Blair's eyes following him as well. "Something happen baby?" Jo played along.

"Nothing," though Jo wasn't fooled. They still had audience.

She stepped closer to Blair in between the assumed problem. "What happened princess?" the cop softened her tone seeing the woman's hesitance. The blond turned her head smiling. She appreciated that Jo was adept to her moods. It made admitting fear easy.

Without a word Jo turned when she heard the sound of the burly stranger return. He spit missing Jo's bike by a hair. Jo turned to meet the gaze glaring down at her daring her to make a move. Jo turned to the gas nozzle stopping it before it ran over the amount she paid for. Putting the nozzle back and the gas cap she turned back to the biker who continued to stare.

"That your bike?" she asked tilting her head toward the Harley. It was in truth a magnificent machine, but Kawasaki had always treated her right. His chest puffed out nodding adding a slight sneer as he looked over hers.

"It's a piece of shit."

His face darkened. His companion had been quiet acting disinterested until she heard Jo's words. "What you say to me dyke?"

Blair squirmed as well wondering if her friend had inhaled too much gas. Jo was a cop, but she didn't think a man like him would concern himself with a badge especially if he felt slighted.

"Jo," she warned, "lets go," she stated firmly.

"I said your bike is a piece of shit," Jo said slowly enunciating every biting word.

Jo expected him to swing. She wanted him to. He had all the signs of an ill tempered hothead. She used it to her advantage. Jo dodged back following the motion of his hand grabbing his wrist with her right and following through to his throat with her left. He grabbed at his throat in pain choking. He held his frame up on the gas pump with the hand that wasn't at his neck.

He wouldn't be making a move any time soon. Jo leaned down whispering in his ear. When she was done she returned to the front of her bike. Blair eyed the flabbergasted blond who'd been running her mouth earlier.

"Are you crazy!" Blair yelled in Jo's ear when they were back on the road.

Jo smiled feeling her friend squeeze her even tighter as they turned a curb.

Was Jo crazy? She wondered to herself as Blair giggled in her ear. Violence was always a last resort. Why was Blair a special case? Even before the question finished she was well aware of why. Protecting her friend overrode reason. It was a scary, but exciting revelation. Blair's heart pounded hard against her chest leaning into her friend. Sighing into her friend's neck she frowned when she caught a hint of a familiar perfume. Jo didn't wear perfume especially if it were as expensive as Blair knew this particular fragrance was.

She stiffened. Jo could sense the change in her friend's body, but she was maneuvering the circle of the garage. She knew Blair didn't care for that. Blair's body didn't relax even after Jo parked beside her car. She jumped off the bike hurrying to find her keys. Jo frowned pushing the stand down with her foot following the struggling blond.

Jo came up behind her picking up the keys after Blair dropped them. "What's wrong princess?" she asked as the heiress snatched them away.

Her actions didn't make sense to her. How could she explain them to Jo? "What did you do today?" she whipped around so quickly Jo stepped back startled.

"Hung out with you," Jo's brows turned in.

"What else?"

"What else what?"

"What else did you do today Jo?"

Frustrated with Blair's interrogation she responded, "I don't know what you're fishing for, but I'll be sure to have my itinerary on hand next time we hang out."

"I can smell her on you Jo," Blair glared through glassy eyes of emotion. Jo could see the clouds dampen the happy gleam that had moments ago made her friend glow.

Blair couldn't seem to let go of her dislike for Boots. She hadn't thought her friend would take her friendship with the other socialite so hard, but Blair wasn't coping. "I don't get you," Jo growled slamming her hand on the hood of the Blair's car. The blond jumped slightly, but Jo didn't seem to notice. "How long ago was college?" Jo asked rhetorically. Blair had made strides considering the kind of woman she once was.

"I don't like her," Blair shared as if Jo hadn't already figured that out.

"Tell me something I don't know." The brunette ran her hand through her hair. What did Blair want from her?

"I don't want you to see her again."

"What?" the detective glared.

Blair didn't hide her repugnance, "what could you two possibly have in common?"

"To be blunt Blair, it's not as if we spend most of our time tallying common interests."

Jo's reflexes were quick enough. She was just as surprised by the sting as she was with Blair's audacity. The blond hadn't even flinched when her hand connected. She instead stood resolute as if violence had been warranted. The adrenaline from earlier hadn't died down, the ride had fed it and their fight was like a buffet for it to dine. Jo's reaction had been to slam Blair into the door of her car. The heiresses' eyes bulged from shock; there was no trace of fear. Even in Jo's rage Blair still trusted her not to hurt her.

Inches away from Blair she thought how easy it would be to strangle her. It wasn't an uncommon fantasy when they fought, but for some reason Jo took several steps back. Looking down to avoid Blair's gaze. Her kiss would have been passionate flirting with desperation if she let herself kiss her best friend. Blair wasn't for her to covet. The blond had made her choice, even if she wasn't aware that Jo was in the running for her affections.

Where were the simpler times? Jo and jealousy were well acquainted in regards to the Warner heiress. Though Blair flittered from one boy to the next and there was no real concern involved in fantasizing. But there were close calls as she grew older understanding and shaping her perfect man into a practical expectation. Jo was jealous of that practical expectation long before it ended up being her former partner.

Blair watched her leave on her bike. Her words and her actions settled and she felt sick she had given into her emotions like that. She didn't hate Boots as much as she portrayed. She validated her actions via friendship. What kind of lifelong friend would she be if she didn't warn her friend of the forbearance of her actions?


	5. Chapter 5

Boots eyed the brunette curiously as she paced darkly. She hadn't expected to see her so soon yet here she was. Her mood had darkened from the ravenous vixen that had visited her.

"She's impossible," she growled under her breath mumbling more Boots could not decipher. She would hear a recognizable combination of words, before Jo went on to talk to herself again. "Damn woman," followed by unintelligible words.

Jo was amusing while she was angry, but Jo was wasting perfectly good energy right before her eyes.

"Jo," she started, but the detective was too distracted to listen. She tried again louder, until she had her undivided attention.

"What?" Jo growled.

As an objective party Boots was well aware of her insight. She wouldn't gain or lose, but the two people that did couldn't make a decision about what to do with themselves. Jo was floundering and Blair foolishly believed that she could choose who she loved. Jo had been unfair to take Blair's choice away from her and she was paying for it.

"What happened?" she queried.

Jo stopped pacing. What had happened? "It was a fight like any other fight, but instead of having the urge to choke her to death I…." Jo stopped.

Boots encouraged, "you….what?"

"I wanted to kiss her," Jo confessed. In her mind strangling hands turned into caressing limbs with a mind of their own. They touched and took liberties following the will of Jo's most primal urgings.

"You're this upset over a kiss?" Boots asked.

"I didn't get kiss her," Jo blushed guiltily cursing her reddening cheeks as the other woman read them.

"You've never had fantasies about her?" Boots queried disbelievingly.

It wasn't the fantasy that scared her. It was the part of her that was so close in bringing it to fruition that terrified her. For years she'd become accustomed to holding back around Blair. Their friendship suffered for it, but it was for the cop's sake. Was she to lose herself completely in Blair and if that was the will of love how would she survive it? The rejection would kill her, or at least it would be as close to death as she could get outside of the real thing.

Boots grew tired of trying to console her inconsolable lover with words. She stalked toward the distracted woman running nails down the back of her neck. "Come to bed," she leaned in.

Jo stalled. "I didn't come here for this," the brunettes' brows were furrowed.

"Didn't you," Boots countered.

Natalie and Tootie were the logical choices when the detective had problems with her difficult friend. Even still she could have called Kolfee, but she didn't. Boots, despite brief their reunion, had been her first choice. The heiress pulled again. Jo followed willingly. She didn't want to think about Blair. Boots had proved to be a welcome distraction from confusing thoughts on many occasions.

Jo allowed herself to be lowered while Boots took the reins. The doorbell rang.

"What do you think you're doing?" Jo asked as Boots stood to try answer the ringing bell. "They don't know you're here," the cop reasoned grabbing for her companion only catching air.

The brunette glared playfully, "stay."

"Hurry up!" Jo yelled after her unceremoniously.

Boots' laughter died down to a chuckle when she answered the door. Her smile immediately fell when she realized who it was. "Special delivery," he smiled pushing passed her, with his special box in hand.

"What are you doing here?" Her eyes went to the hallway that led to the bedroom.

"A new shipment came in. I thought you might like a taste," he held up his offering relieving himself of the scarf around his neck.

"How sweet, but now isn't a really good time," she reached for the box, but he pulled it away from her grasp. His hand closed around her throat pushing her against a table holding an inordinately expensive lamp. She grabbed the sides of the table afraid to fall. She felt her stomach tighten. "All I'm asking is just for a little show of appreciation."

Marshall coveted Boots since he was introduced to her at their family's country club nearly a decade ago. In truth Boots would have never had to pay for product again if she gave him what he wanted. Even as he held her into submission, her fear had never aroused him more. It seemed for the first time that she was in awe of him. He liked that. She would show him how much when he finally freed Marshall Jr. from the prison of his pants.

She couldn't scream.

A well placed kick to the back of the leg and he crashed to a knee. Boots climbed to the far end of the couch as Jo slammed her fist in his face. She hated men that laid their hands on women. If there was an island made especially for them she'd have them all shipped off and bombed. Jo hit him over and over as he struggled to flee. Recovering from shock Boots moved to the door opening it for Marshall, she pulled him by the collar and threw him out.

She knew that the cop wouldn't let her let it go as just a dispute with her drug dealer.

"What are you doing? Aren't you going to press charges?" Jo moved to the door that Boots had just closed.

The heiress shook her head pulling Jo away from it, "he's gone."

"Who was he?" Boots was anxious for Jo to put the detective on the backburner.

"Nobody," she answered knowing even after she gave the vague answer Jo wouldn't let it drop. Jo if anything was one of the most loyal people she'd met. And as much as she liked to fool herself in believing that they were play toys to the other, they were flirting with authentic feelings of friendship.

Jo's heart pounded hard against her chest. Boots didn't want to go any further about the guy in conversation or otherwise. It made her uneasy, but she wouldn't have been the first victim to grin and bear it while in unimaginable pain. Shame did that, had he done this before? Surely Boots knew that if she were in trouble she could share it with Jo.

"You don't just let anyone in your home. What is he an ex boyfriend?" Or a current lover that came by to visit unexpectedly?

The woman stayed silent. Silence offered her a safe haven. She didn't have to lie or divulge the identity of her attacker. Marshall was a lot of things, but she had never taken him for a choker, but she couldn't say that she was the best judge of character. She had married and divorced a vile excuse for a man that she fell head over heels for. Her reasoning was still fuzzy, but there was no need to dwell on it. Jo was piecing the evening and the stranger together in her head. Whatever she came up with was better than the truth.

"Who is he…?"

"Jo you've done more than enough coming to my rescue like you did," she held the woman's face in a soft caress. "And as much as I loved the cop I want my lover back."

Jo frowned pulling away. "You're ability to compartmentalize is scary."

"It's a gift," the woman shrugged following Jo into her bedroom. She frowned when she watched her put on her shoes.

"What the hell are you doing?"

"Leaving," Jo answered shortly.

"Why?" Boots stood in front of her. If Jo wanted to stand she would have to push the woman out of the way. Instead she leaned her head back to meet the eyes glaring down at her.

"You expect me to ignore what just happened?"

"Yes," the other woman answered simply and with all earnest.

Jo moved Boots aside, "I'm a cop, I can't," she collected her jacket.

"Don't be uncompromising," she called after her. Jo kept walking until two steps from the entrance. A rectangular piece of paper lay on the floor where the stranger had fallen.

"I'm just supposed to let that go?" Boots crossed her arms obstinately ignoring the incredulity in Jo's voice. "You like being smacked around?" Jo asked cruelly.

The woman smirked leaning into Jo, who had menacingly closed the distance between them. Her teeth bit down on Jo's bottom lip. The detective pulled away roughly. "Don't tell me that you're not a little bit curious about how pleasurable pain can be."

Whatever Jo's expectations had been about what she would find with Boots, her imagination was underwhelming. Nails ran roughly over the skin. She shouldn't want her, but she did, along with the carnal oblivion of forgetting everything that didn't make up the socialites length.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Sage advice was hard to come by. Her mother, who had drugged herself into a walking coma for thirty four years, had only given her one piece of helpful advice. Shoe shopping was therapy for the soul. Boots stared down at the heels on her foot. She liked the open toe and considered Jo's reaction. Before she could analyze the thought anymore beyond a pause a familiar frame dropped down beside her. She turned and watched Marshall stare at her feet longingly. His eyes stared at the complimentary scarf curious to see his handiwork hid underneath.

"Doll," he smirked brushing the tip of his finger lightly on the top of thigh.

She flinched at the contact. "You're traveling high up on the food chain aren't you? Dealer, rapist, what next politician?" Boots seethed sarcastically.

Marshall glared, "who is she?" Jo's presence had been abrupt but he noticed both of their clothes were in disarray before he was thrown out.

Boots shook her head biting the tip of her finger as she dropped the heel she was trying on. Men were too easy to read. The mere question was painful to ask. She doubted he wanted to know the x-rated answer.

"A cop," Boots smiled trying on another pair deposited at her feet by an associate. She smiled in thanks. From the corner of her eye she could see his subdued rage peaking through.

Marshall's face darkened, "a fucking cop," he growled.

"That color doesn't flatter you in the least," she grinned in reaction to his flushed cheeks.

"What the hell was she doing making house calls in the middle of the night?"

"I fail to see how that involves you. Maybe it'll make you think twice before you come by unannounced." Marshall was a long time family friend. Before the evening she trusted him to a point. He was always amusing, but last night he had crossed a line. She had always considered him harmless, though at times he did make her uncomfortable. Her instincts had been lax when she should have been concerning herself with the latter.

Their relationship wasn't easily discounted even if it was only business, Marshall was self assured by that. "Need anything?"

She paused from making a show of deciding how well the shoes looked as opposed to the ten others she tried prior. She licked her lips unconsciously. She was his wasn't she? Perhaps not in the way that she belonged to Jo for those special nights, but he owned a part of her that Jo couldn't touch. Had that truth given him the impression that he could take what he wanted? Conjecture was tiring, but last night warranted some time to think better of the people in her life.

"You'll be the first to know if I do," she angled her foot staring at the line of her leg to the start of the heel. Marshall admired the same line except his attentions sent him north bound. He had never made promises to be the perfect gentleman, nor would he start.

From the other side of the glass window shoppers looked longingly at the couple. To the unknowing passerby it looked like two lovers enthralled in conversation while shopping. A curious blonde walked by determined not to be sucked in by the lure of lavish shoes, but a glance was all it took. She moved closer to the window staring in at multicolored styled shoes from exotic designers. She almost drooled spotting a pair of green Versace boots. The only thing that stopped her from shopping the store bare was the sight of Marshall Parent and an old school mate. Blair wondered if Jo knew how friendly the two seemed. The heiress was filled with a mixture of rage and an odd sensation of validation. Her only intentions were to protect Jo even if it meant that she had to stretch the truth to do it. Either way their proximity could mean only pain for her best friend.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

"I already got the lecture from Blair, I don't need it from you too," Jo stated when she rounded the corner to her apartment. Dorothy stood waiting for her. Her green scarf complimented the short haircut she wore. It was a professional choice. Shorter hair matured her baby face. The shades were a bit dramatic for Jo's taste, but it suited the actress.

Dorothy shrugged following Jo as she went in. "That didn't take long," then again Blair worked quickly when she saw a problem she needed to fix. "But that's not why I'm here."

Jo went to her fridge to retrieve a beer after throwing her keys on the countertop. She had just come from the precinct gym, she needed to unwind. "You want something?" the younger woman shook her head.

"I was wondering if I could stay with you for a while."

"What's wrong?" with renewed strength she sat up gauging her friends face as she answered.

"Nothing," Dorothy rushed to reassure her friend. She didn't want Jo to become unnecessarily overprotective. "I have a friend I'm letting use my apartment for three days. Their girlfriend is coming for a visit. They won't have any privacy if his four roommates have anything to do with it." Jo quirked her brow, "sue me if I'm a hopeless romantic with a giving heart. Can I stay?"

"Mi casa and all that," Jo threw herself over her couch. She reached for a pillow adjusting it behind her head. She could feel Dorothy watching her. Sighing heavily she brought her eyes up to her former roommate, "yes?"

"I don't like worrying about you," she admitted. Dorothy, the youngest of the quartet, had been the most adamant to discourage Jo from pursuing a career in law enforcement. A social worker was safe confined at a desk. For all the reasons that made her work behind the desk as fulfilling as a cop, Jo knew she would be sated.

"I'm fine," Jo offered knowing what she was up against.

Dorothy seemed to see things others missed and she wasn't afraid to question what might be troubling them. The youngest of the three and she still amazed Jo with her.

"I'm around actors all day Jo. And I know you feel you have to put on a brave front for us so we don't worry as much." Jo sat up and pulled Dorothy to her. She held her and wished that she could say more to ease her worry. Insight offered a glimpse of things that tend to burden. Jo didn't want that for her. "Blair's wedding and this thing with Boots…." She trailed off when Jo began to pull her away taking her in at arm's length.

"What….?"

"The theatre is drama. Unrequited love is synonymous for death sentence in theatre."

Jo pulled away breaking all contact as she refused to look at Dorothy.

"I don't think anyone realizes it except me."

Jo bites the inside of her bottom lip inconspicuously, "realize what?" she wondered if Dorothy had the guts she didn't.

"Blair's happy with Graham. He can give her what you can't. And this thing you have with Boots, I don't know what it is I don't want to know. I just hope you're being honest with her."

Jo's humorless laugh filled the silence when Dorothy finished. "Wow," she breathed. Her phone rang. Their eyes met before Jo reached for it.

"Polniaczek," she answered. The voice on the other end had spoke briefly. Returning the phone back on the hook she informed Dorothy that there was a spare key under a loose board beside her neighbor's plant. She didn't know what time she'd be back, but whatever was in the fridge she was welcome to it.

"Blair invited us for a dinner on Saturday night. She hopes that you can make it. She even mentioned Boots being allowed to come." Jo stopped short at the unexpected invitation.

Turning briefly to answer with a noncommittal smile she knew she would take her time to return.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Detective Polniaczek pulled her hair back into a bun as she entered Hogalvees. The call had been from a friend after they received a public disturbance at a well known cop bar. Crossing the threshold the room was lit by the neon lights of beer signs. Hog behind the counter with a familiar blonde nursing him. She and Blair hadn't spoken since their argument the day before. Her life seemed to be moving at the speed of light. She could barely catch up in time to think. Boots had a way of making her lose track of things like plans she'd made before she met her.

Hog pulled away when he noticed Jo. "Where's Scott?" Jo asked already side stepping the bar to the stairs. She sped up taking the stairs two at a time when Hog's eyes moved upward.

She stormed in starting her search in the kitchen then living room. Turning right she went down a narrow hallway. Her eyes glittered with rage following the shaft of dim light from the bathroom door. Leg on the side of the bathtub he leaned back against the back of the toilet holding his head back. His nose was red and dried blood sat in the crevice between his mouth and his nose.

"What the hell," Jo growled from the opening.

Scott turned his head slightly. No reason to go into detail about why he was holding a bloody nose. He knew it was safe to assume she'd been briefed on another tumble and rumble with his father had occurred. 'Civilians' he thought to himself shrugging when he answered, "just me and my daddy issues."

Jo in some ways understood the anger for his father. Her dad hadn't been father of the month material. And for all the times that she imagined breaking his jaw she never went through with it. Scott was on a brink of a line he didn't care if he crossed. Jo doubted father and son could keep up this way for long, before the scales collapsed.

"You can't bash his head in every time he mentions your mom," Jo drew out admonishingly. Jo had been there and done that and when her dad ex con and all had come into her life again she made it hard. But common sense told her she couldn't survive an all out war with him.

Scott glared at Jo before leaning his head back. The uncomplicated reason they were friends were their shared loyalties to family, friends, and the force. If there were a better reason then neither one of them dwelled on it the former reasons since they were enough.

"He's a asshole," the admission was true, but also a trait that Scott himself shared.

"If that's all you got you'd be safer alone and inside. You're your father's son."

"Don't remind me," he growled. "How's he doing anyway?" he asked begrudgingly.

Jo bent her knee more as she leaned against the frame of the opening of the door. "He'll live. For how much longer depends on how long you plan on keeping this up?"

Scott laughed darkly, "you judging me Polniaczek?"

"Just offering some friendly advice," she noted. Scott could be uncompromising when it came to his family. His mother was a stripper on the other side of the town going strong as a washed up sorry example for a mother. And here her partner was fighting his father. The simple logic of dismissing parental baggage fell on deaf ears when the only emotion that keeps him going is anger.

"Hmm…how's the heiress?"

Jo looked down. Scott narrowed his eyes. He leaned for a little, but ending up adjusting his position instead.

"Don't change the subject."

Scott chuckled, "I have a feeling your subject is a lot more interesting than my subject. Besides I'm over it. Spill it."

"No," Jo answered incredulously. The last thing she wanted to do was feed his lascivious imagination.

Jo turned her head to the sounds of heavy footsteps ascending the stairs. She knew by the gait despite how considerably slow it was now, who approached. Scott slowly stood tensing as if preparing for the next round. Jo gave him a dispassionate glare and then lazily her gaze landed on the patriarch followed by the happy couple Jo was uninterested in seeing.

Following Scott as he slid by her she kept close ready to take the younger man down if necessary. The old man glared at his son but his aim was the kitchen. He pulled a bottle from the fridge then turned to assure everyone in the room that he was fine. He disappeared down the narrow hallway to his room not even sparing a glance at his son.

Jo bid him goodnight, but the older man only shut his door. Scott stared at the toe of his shoe. He reminded Jo of a chastised teen slumped against the wall with his hands in his pockets. There wasn't much she could say that Scott hadn't already heard. It was his decision to listen, but Jo doubted he would. There was so much rage. In reality his parents met, made him, and then split. Hog didn't beat him, and he may not have always been there, but he provided for his son. It was easy for Scott to blame and seek out the worst in every memory from his childhood. He still held it against his parents that they didn't try.

"When will you stop acting like a child?"

"When I grow up," Scott shot back acidly.

Jo didn't bother to fuel the flame. Graham however was an expert. He would go head to head with Scott as if yelling would make him listen. If no one intervened they'd have to send for the paramedics for another altercation.

"Haven't you two had enough?" Blair glared at her husband then Scott. The creaking couch ended the silence as Jo pulled out the sofa bed. Scott eyed her curiously.

"You mind?" she queried uninterested if he cared where she slept. A sheet and three pillows later Jo was propped up watching reruns of Beauty and the Beast. Jo loved looking at Linda Hamilton's lips. The way she formed words she wondered what else those lips could do. She was surprised to hear footsteps since Graham and Blair hadn't stayed long after they realized that Jo would keep an eye on the duo.

Blair stood at the top of the stairs. Jo frowned, "something wrong?" she asked sitting up a little more.

The blond nodded. Jo unaware of where to put her hand when her Blair advanced to straddle her sat them innocuously at her side. She leaned her back wondering what her best friend was doing and where Graham had gone.

"What are you…?" Blair cut her off with a finger to her lips. It didn't stay idle for long. The single limb traced the outlines of the cop's lips moving all the way down to the nape of her neck. Her eyes trailed lower, but her fingers had broached the courage to follow suit.

Jo leaned forward but as her mouth connected it felt like nothing was there. She opened her eyes to see if Blair had retreated. She awoke reposed and staring at the wall until she rose to peruse the room. Blair was gone as if she'd never been there. Wiping the sleep from her face she stared down at nothing to collect herself. Her body was on fire and her center throbbed from the dream. Her mind had fooled her and she was left to pick up the pieces of the lie she wished was real.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Joe held her head. The week had passed with her barely seeing the inside of her apartment. Alternating between the office and Hogs to keep the peace she enjoyed the breather that paperwork brought. Rolling a paper clip with her fingers she looked up as an unfamiliar shadow stood above her. Her eyes met with a short man with a thin lips and large blue eyes. Jo recognized him immediately standing to outstretch her hand in greeting, "Ben, what are you doing here?"

The smaller man shook her hand lifting up a manila folder with the other. "I was told to bring photos of possessions that thief took from my dad."

"Oh," Jo reached for it hesitantly. The trail had gone cold when Paulo's dead body was found stripped in an alleyway. Jo saw very little hope in his eyes. Ben's father had been one of Paulo's last victims. As a man that could hardly get around on his own the elder Wilcox paid for his groceries to be delivered at his house. Mistaking Paulo for the delivery boy he had pushed his way in scaring Ben's father half to death. The old man suffered a blow to the head for no other reason than to show him that he meant serious harm if the man interfered. He spent no more than five minutes. An open door alerted a neighborhood and his speedy retreat alarmed them enough to check in and then call 911.

The family could rest in the knowledge their intruder was dead. But Paulo had taken their comfort something they couldn't file a police report for. Jo stared at the hand that clutched the folder for dear life. There wasn't much she could do outside of checking the junkie's old pawn store haunts. She reached out for the folder promising to personally look over each item.

Ben seemed surprised by the offer, but he didn't question it.

"You'll call me if anything turns up?" he asked before he left.

Jo nodded her head reassuring him as much as she could without giving him too much false hope. There were few things Jo considered prized possessions. Though, if someone took her bike she knew she would do everything in her power to get it back. The man that stole from them wouldn't be brought to justice. Making an effort to help fix what was broken by finding what was taken would help to make Jo feel better. People came in asking for help in many shapes in sizes, at the end of the day they all want the same thing. They no longer want to be a victim and putting the pieces together seems like the most instinctive response.

Returning to her chair she frowned at the hardness. One day she'd remember to bring that cushion she'd been meaning to attach to the seat. Adjusting to the hardness that hours of paperwork had distracted her from, she opened the envelope. While she doubted there were many items that were probably long gone she went through the shots.

Looking through them she stopped at the picture of a bracelet circled in a photocopied black and white of a wed couple. She assumed they were Ben's parents and the trinket had been something of his mothers. Staring at the jewel it looked expensive, there was no doubt this was one of the trinkets that would never be found. It wrapped loosely around her wrist with dangling balls. The item description noted it was made out of silver.

Putting the pictures away in a satchel to take home later she started back on her work. That is until her phone rang.

"Polniazcek," she fingered the corner of a page as she answered the phone.

"She lives!" Natalie spoke dramatically on the other end. "It feels like ages since we talked." Jo felt guilty that she felt the same way. Their lives rarely crossed paths anymore. She still considered the girls family, but as time grew on so did they and their circle of new friends.

"All work and no play," she replied in explanation.

"Well then I'll definitely see you Saturday."

"Saturday?" Jo repeated.

Natalie shook her head on the other end, "your favorite blond invited us back to the house for a dinner party."

Jo silent on the other end hit her head forgetting today was Friday and she still hadn't spoken to Blair since the garage. Dorothy told her she wanted her there with Boots. And Natalie seemed to have given the same invitation line for line. Were they up to something? It was safe to assume they were.

Pinching the bridge of her nose she ended the call confirming her attendance plus one.

"What'd I miss?" she asked as both Kolfee and Scott entered the office.

Scott shrugged off his coat while Kolfee tossed a single object in Jo's direction, "the place was a dump."

Looking down she narrowed her eyes at the business card. "What's this?" she asked.

"This is the only lead we have," Kolfee stated sounding tired. They had combed through his home unenthusiastically. Between the smell and the general mess it had been hell. He almost wished he had taken one for the team and done paperwork instead of Jo.

Jo ran her fingers across the texture of the paper. The script was thin san serif. The paper felt and looked expensive. "Marshall Parent never heard of him," Jo lied slowly. There was one other time she'd read the name coincidently she had come across another one of his business cards recently. The man who had attacked Boots had one left a souvenir from his visit.

Kolfee and Scott stared blankly at the card. "I can do the leg work on this one," she stated stretching from hours at the desk. She heard no complaints otherwise.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Graham watched his wife balled up in the corner of the couch. Her hands moved confidently over the page. He imagined her lines were light, but the detail of whatever image was in her head was gradually coming to life on the page. He'd hit the jackpot. Middle child of seven his life had taken a different path than he or anyone had anticipated. He was smarter than some not as smart as others, but his hunger helped him to survive.

"I love you," he stated from the opening where he watched.

Startled she held the pad protectively to her chest. He frowned at the reaction and the response he expected hadn't come yet only a startled gaze.

"You scared me," Blair breathed.

Graham made his way over to sit across from her. He stopped from walking around the couch to glimpse what had her concentrating so hard. "May I see?" He nodded toward the book.

"It's not finished," Blair stated with no intention of sharing.

Her husband knew that his wife didn't care for showing off anything until she was ready. By then she had the scenario planned out in her head for how it was going to go. He traced her bare leg. Her flinch was subtle but it spoke volumes. Technically they were still in their honeymoon stage. His eyes rose to hers, but she had gone back to her drawing as the scratching of the pencil on paper grew more insistent.

Had he done something wrong? His hours at the office were perhaps too much for a newlywed. But he sent flowers. He hid notes litter in random places knowing they would eventually be found. Were they no longer enough to sate her?

"I remember when I first saw you," he began keeping his tone soft and warm. "I thought you were the most beautiful woman I'd ever seen."

It wasn't a few days after Jo was moved up to detective that Blair had come by to personally congratulate her best friend. Blair remembered that she had walked in and Jo wasn't hard to find when she found the offices. At a desk close to a pillar holding a fire extinguisher Jo sat at her own desk hunched over it staring at papers. The blond recalled it had been one of her first cases and Jo wanted everything to be perfect. The first case as detective could dictate if her promotion stuck.

Graham had returned and sitting in his seat was a goddess. He would never admit 'goddess' had come to mind to anyone not even his wife. He brushed the side of his thumb along her leg. "I knew you'd make me happy before you said a word."

"You were an ass," Blair stated looking up from her drawing briefly to make sure he knew she was half joking.

"When I get around pretty women I get nervous. And the ass comes out to hide that."

Jo knew Graham enough to have seen his infamous nervousness. Blair stared at her pad. Jo had done everything right that a friend should. She had taken a few steps back and let whatever happened next unfold. Graham was a good man. The heiress knew if he was otherwise Jo would have said. So why was she being condemned for doing the same thing. All she wanted to do was protect her friend. Hopefully after tomorrow night Jo would finally see Boots and not just the part of her Jo seemed too enthralled by.


	6. Chapter 6

The Parent moniker sat on the tip of every tongue that mattered. The business and the name were intertwined with the decisions of the people that help to represent it. Products were remembered by the name. When Raymond had first seen his son, he knew that he would do everything in his power to protect his name, because now there was another variable that had the power to change everything. It wasn't so say that the elder Parent had low expectations of his only son from the beginning. He was a practical man. Associates had lost his business because their family had done their name shame.

He never thought his son capable of it until now. His son's secretary had informed him that he had a visitor. A detective Joanna Polniaczek was calling on his son. When he heard the news she started down to his son's office. He stood in the elevator to contemplate an innocent explanation for her visit. Unfortunately an innocent reason didn't come to mind.

Jo sat an exceedingly comfortable chair. She considered briefly confiscating it with no intention of returning it. It would work wonders on her backside. A wall of clouded glass separated the office from the rest of the building.

"Do you recognize these?" she asked handing over both cards with his name on it.

He looked over them carefully as if appraising a rare artifact. It was comical in Jo's mind, but she kept her face impassive. "It's my business card," he stated as a matter of fact.

Jo nodded, "does the name Paulo Jacobi ring any bells?" When the lawyer shook his head the brunette continued, "He was in possession of this card?" she pointed to the card on the left.

"I'm a businessman. I hand out my cards. Has that suddenly become illegal?" he asked laughing.

Jo followed suit, "no," she chuckled harder, "it's suspect when Jacobi ends up dead and all we have for a lead is that," Jo pointed his card again.

His eyes widened in shock. "You're joking," he illustrated his surprise with an equally shocked tone.

"Not when it comes littering my streets with dead bodies," Jo answered sincerely.

Sitting back Parent shook his head blowing out a breath, "I'm not sure what I can do to help."

"You can start by explaining how Paulo Jacobi got your card."

"I'm not sure I hand them out to everyone…" the lawyer started to oblige Jo, but she cut him off.

"Even junkies?"

"If they don't have the word stamped on their head then perhaps," the man answered simply.

Jo nodded pulling out her pad as she pretended to make notes. It was a strategy Graham had taught her. Writing made people curious of its content. They go over in their head the lies they tell to consider if they had said too much or not enough.

"That's your personal number is it not?" Jo picked up the card to examine the back. She held it up to him.

"It makes people feel special that they can reach me," he shrugged, "you'd be surprised how often I end up writing my direct office number."

Jo didn't look up from the pad, "ballpark it then."

He blew out a breath leaning his head back to count, "eight or nine a week," he stated.

Jo began writing more.

"I wish I could be of more help to you detective." His offer sounded genuine he stood ready to lead her out of the office.

Jo didn't budge closing her pad quickly. She asked him about his whereabouts the day Paulo posted bail. He stated he'd been in the office for most of it besides a lunch date. When he was done with work he had a quiet evening by himself that his servant and driver could verify. Jo stood smiling at the straightforward answers he provided. She turned abruptly inches from being walked by the man eager for her to leave.

"One more question."

The man nodded his head waiting for her to continue.

"Do you know of a Boots St. Claire?"

"No," he answered quickly, too quickly for Jo's liking. Weighing her options she decided to let him think. She wanted him to think over every mistake he made eventually it would prompt him to begin covering tracks the police hadn't discovered yet. And Jo would be there when he did. Thanking him for his cooperation she passed an eye level older man that resembled the liar she'd just left.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

The crowd was thin, but then again it was a slow night. Shep nodded Jo in without a thought. Jo could still get some things done without shining a badge in people's faces. Slick's was a titty bar, a neutral playing field. As soon as Jo walked in she was greeted by the smell of sweat and money. She bypassed the bar as the blonde behind it with the low cut pink tank top looked at her expectantly. She took a seat in the back, the cheap seats. A waitress came by wearing a dark body suit. Jo couldn't make out the color since the lights were dimmed everywhere except the main event. This late afternoon they were featuring a thin blond with big hair and her legs wrapped tightly around the pole upside down.

"I didn't order this," Jo waved the drink away.

The waitress sat it down nonetheless. Jo watched her walk away then stared at the drink she'd left.

"All business and no play, my boys are a bad influence on you," and older woman wearing a teddy and a pink robe took the seat beside Jo. Her fingers rubbed over Jo hand resting limp on the table.

Jo could see what Hog saw in his ex wife. Over thirty years passed since her heyday and Jo had to admit there was still much of the stripper to enjoy in a show. She was smart, sexual, and a heinous flirt—Jo liked her.

"All of us can't be wild at heart." She owned the place she didn't have to perform, but occasionally she wrapped around a pole to reclaim her youth.

"You're as wild as they come; you hide it better than most. Or does fucking the brains out of a socialite not count?"

"How'd you hear about that?" Jo asked. Debra had inherited Slick's from her former boss. Since it was a neutral venue cops and cons and whatever else came by to enjoy the show. Along the way whatever gets said to the girls eventually works its way to the old woman's ears. It struck the detective as strange that men underestimated a scantily clad woman when they held the real power.

Debra smiled in answer. Scott had that smile. It was a foolish question. The woman had answers. It was why she had come here and nowhere else like she often did when there was something amiss in a case. No junkie could have set Paulo's bail they were too selfish to spend the money on anything other than their high. The description given by the releasing officer was too well to do to be anyone that Paulo associated with on the street. Debra and the girls could access both worlds without suspicion because they were the ones being sought out.

"This look familiar?" Jo showed Debra Marshall's card.

She took it in her hands as Parent did when she'd been in his office. She examined both the back and the front. She shook her head, "I mostly deal with faces and sometimes other body parts," she looked pointedly at Jo's chest.

Debra's ogling onslaughts were infamous. No one was immune if there was something that had caught her eye. Jo had been on the other end of it many times and each time she fought the urge to cover up. Debra was harmless just as long as Jo didn't enable too much. She pulled out a brochure with him on the inside. Debra nodded her head confirming he came in from time to time.

"He has specific tastes. He thinks he's too good to lounge on the floor like the rest of the pervs," the woman shrugged folding the brochure. "What's his sin?" she asked mischievously.

"Suspected homicide," Jo said as a matter of fact.

Debra's smile dropped a little, "oh, too sinful for my blood."

"Really? I could've sworn he got his homicidal tendencies from you," Jo played earning herself a slap on her shoulder.

"I was never that high strung his father on the other hand…." She trailed off. Jo had heard stories of Hog when he was on the job. He was obsessive, by the book on occasion, too dedicated to the work that he brought it home. Too straight laced to stay married to a stripper, especially when it came to her performing on nights he happened to show up. "Do I get the nice and naughty details?"

Jo took her inquisitive nature as her cue to leave. "Your source is reliable why don't you ask them?" she knew immediately what she was digging for.

The older woman shook her head, "I'd rather hear it from your lips," she leaned forward, "you're not even going to indulge an old lady?"

The cop leaned forward using her arms to hold herself up, "There's nothing old about you," Jo did her own once over. Debra didn't look uncomfortable she pulled back her shoulders just so she would train her eyes on her well endowed chest. A lazy smile crossed Jo's lips. "Scott would kill me."

"He wouldn't have to know would he?" she smiled invitingly. She flirted incessantly, but there were few she would have in her bed. Jo was on the small list.

The brunette turned around to look at the eyes staring in their direction, "too many eyes and ears around here for that to happen."

Debra followed her gaze shrugging, "s'ppose your right," she huffed petulantly. Jo chuckled in response rounding the table to deposit a kiss on her forehead.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Blair had promised to be on her best behavior. The lawyer had slow cooked a roast with a side salad and vinaigrette as dressing. White wine filled their glasses. Jo was waiting. For what she wasn't sure, but that didn't stop her from anticipating anything. Boots clung to her affectionately. Jo wasn't sure if it was for or because she had needs for the detective to attend but she didn't mind the attention. Natalie and Dorothy like the buffers they were, attended to the conversation with care. They had unwittingly become the evening's entertainment since the rest of the group wasn't as keen to join in.

Boots excused her to the ladies room. When she closed the door behind her she pulled at the charm on her bracelet opening her stash she kept to put herself at ease. In her haste she forgot to lock the door. Jo misinterpreting it as her cue to follow, and she did, in anticipation.

Jo's stomach dropped when she saw the trace of white powder around her nose. She was hunched over and Jo knew what for. "What the hell?" she growled taking Boots by the wrist to the swinging charm. She had admired it once, observing it as one of Boots most beloved pieces of jewelry, now realizing why it was worn so often.

"I just wanted to loosen up after a very long day," Boots turned away, but the mirror wouldn't let her escape Jo's burning stare.

"How long?" What was Jo asking? How long had Boots been using this as a crutch? How long had Jo been in the dark?

Boots leaned over smirking. It was to spite the fact she felt guilty that Jo had found out. "It's harmless."

"This crap kills people."

"I don't abuse it."

"You don't need to use it at all," Jo whispered harshly making Boots feel claustrophobic.

Sniffing she wiped under her nose squaring her shoulders, "I'm not addicted." She remembered Jo sharing stories of people so crushed by the strength of their addiction. She wasn't that far gone, nor would she allow herself to be.

"Then give it to me," Jo grabbed the wrist her charm hung from.

The brunette shook her head. No one told her what to do, not anymore. She didn't understand why people couldn't leave her alone to make her own choices.

"You're just a fuck," she hid her arm behind her. Jo drew closer breathing into her ear unsure of what words would help. She made the mistake of forgetting that this wasn't Boots, woman in control, this was the junkie. She was at the mercy of a force that she wouldn't let go of for the sake of elegant promises.

If Jo tried to rip it from her she'd hold on even tighter and shun the cop for her attempt. She kissed her on the ear. Boots tried to pull away, but Jo's mouth wouldn't yield. Boots sucked in a breath of submission grabbing a hold of her cop. The heat between her legs wouldn't abide being held so close together. She opened them welcoming Jo's warmth. In moments the ire turned to passion that allowed them to temporarily forget what awaited them on the other side of the door.

It was hard for Blair not to notice when the duo left the room. She imagined what they could be doing behind closed doors. It was rude of Jo to do the torrid things running through her head. She had no reason to think that her fantasies were just that.

"What is it you're always tellin me about frown lines," her husband leaned his head in her neck. Blair unconsciously pulled away. Graham let her move watching her. She looked to be in another world.

"She's using you," Blair stated catching up to Jo and Boots when she saw them preparing to leave. Graham followed clearing his throat.

"Blair…..you don't know what it is you saw," he whispered, but Jo had already heard it. The cop whirled around waiting for explanation.

"What?" Jo's glare darkened.

Boots stood in the archway of the door only a few feet away from freedom. Dorothy and Natalie meandered close by watching silently. To interrupt could possibly ruin the live action drama they were too enthralled in to stop.

"Boots," Blair pointed accusingly. She sighed to calm down. She started more calmly, "She doesn't love you, not when she's sleeping around with Marshall Parent. I saw them." Blair placed her body in between the two women.

"Blair," Graham reiterated, "you don't know what you saw."

"I saw them together even though they were making every effort not to be seen," she pointed out haughtily.

Jo tilted her head. She looked passed Blair and eyed the brunette. Did the sinking feeling in her gut mean that Boots meant more to her than she admitted? Or was it that she was sleeping with someone else? Jo, clenching her jaw, eyed her friends then the silent woman. Boots said nothing in her defense.

The cop walked over to the leaning woman. She held her arms crossed as if protecting herself from a perceived onslaught. It never crossed Jo's mind to hurt her. She was long passed the days of mistaking yelling for reasoning. Now she stood eye to eye with a woman that evoked a distress with the reality of how messed up she really was. There were still secrets about Boots the heiress had yet to share. That Jo wasn't certain she would ever share. She seemed relaxed, but Jo knew Boots a little better than to assume she was ok. She wasn't. Blair struck a chord.

Jo reached for her hand. At first tug Boots was obstinate. Jo wouldn't give up that easily and tried again. This time her hand fell and Jo's hand was there to embrace it. Boots had made it clear that any overtures would be rebuffed. Now, she wasn't so sure. Her eyes pleaded for Jo to say something. Though words, at this moment in front of small crowd, they wouldn't have the same inflection.

Jo turned back to Blair, "we should go, thanks for the invite."

Blair stunned watched them leave hand in hand.

"Boots and Jo," Natalie shook her head. She was still couldn't wrap her mind around the idea. And whether or not they chose to accept it, their relationship was becoming a force to be reckoned with.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Blair couldn't sleep. Graham displeased with her display had left.

"Why couldn't you leave them alone?" he had yelled.

Blair putting dishes away as he bid Natalie and Dorothy goodnight had stopped. Leaning over the sink counting the bubbles she turned around, "I'm not going to let Jo make a mistake."

"No one _lets_ Jo do anything. Either she does it or she doesn't damn everything else," he huffed dropping a pan beside the sink unceremoniously.

Blair jumped at the force.

He had opened his mouth as if he was going to yell something else, but he knew Blair well enough to know she wouldn't listen. Her plan had back fired, and she was still foolishly plotting to end what she couldn't undo.

Natalie and Dorothy she could imagine what they thought since they too left inordinately silent. For hours she was left with her thoughts and mixed emotions. What did Jo see in Boots to disbelieve what Blair clearly witnessed? She knew the subtleties of intimate familiarity. Even if she had preconceived notions about Boots being insincere with Jo, she didn't imagine Marshall and her familiarity.

She felt a sense of urgency. Jo had chosen Boots over her. She would have preferred the Bronx temper to the soundless trust she had in Boots. Shoving jeans on and sneakers, reserved for her workouts, she was determined to reason Jo into submission. And if reason didn't work, in the very least, a yelling match would tire her out enough to sleep.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

When Jo and Boots left Jo usurped the reigns. They never spoke. There were many reasons to and yet they weren't important enough to break the silence. Jo led the way upstairs to her apartment. She held the door open and closed it softly behind them. Boots stood lost. Jo pulled her to the bedroom. She took off the other woman's jacket draping it across an ottoman. She guided her down to the mattress. Jo inhaled Boots.

Questions ran through her head, but none were so urgent to invade upon the tranquility of just being there, with each other. Red numbers were the last sight she remembered before she closed her eyes to sleep.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Knowing it was late it didn't deter the blond from seeking out her best friend. There was even a chance that Jo wouldn't be home. Most nights she wasn't lately. She probably had Boots to thank for that. She turned the knob of the door having unlocked it with her key. She insisted to have one made for everyone. They had lived with one another for years, no need in keeping secrets now she rationalized.

She walked into darkness. There were random light sources around the room from the vcr to the microwave numbers. She stood still while her eyes adjusted. Before they could a lamp light startled her.

"Isn't it a little late Murder She Wrote?" Boots dropped her hand down from the lamp. The bed had been comfortable, much more comfortable than the chair and yet she welcomed the discomfort. It felt as if she'd slept for an entire night but the reality of the time eroded whatever satisfaction she felt from her slumber. Her eyes had shot to the door when she heard it opening. Her first thought was a burglar hence her hand tightly wrapped around the neck of the lamp. The smell that wafted in at the shadows entrance eased her panic leaving behind petulance.

She ignored the snide remark, "Where's Jo?" It never occurred to Blair, Boots would even consider stepping foot in Jo's apartment much less her neighborhood.

"Impersonating a rock," Boots deadpanned. Her legs were folded under her. An elbow rested in the crook of the chair with her head rested on the hand it belonged to.

She wondered how the blonde could be so blind. But then again even she wasn't naïve enough to judge so harshly. They were both the product of their lifestyles. Individuality had no room for luxury and privilege with the exhausting task of upholding a persona that fit the former titles. Blair was in love with Jo. And she couldn't see beyond her station, her marriage, or her friendship to admit to herself.

"Why are you here?" she asked knowing the answer.

"What do you want Boots? What's in it for you?"

"Deflecting a question with a question. Law school really made you clever," Boots glared evilly.

"This isn't a game. Jo isn't a toy."

Boots glare turned into a dark chuckle. "Were you so concerned, when you didn't know she was fucking me?" The blonde scowled, but the brunette continued. "Let her go," the statement carried more raw emotion than Boots had intended, but the intonation was tired.

Blair was too angry to notice. She wouldn't lose her best friend to a liar. "You're not good enough for her."

"As opposed to you?" the words silenced Blair. "You're in love with her. You can't admit it. But you'll ruin her happiness, because you can't live with her being with someone else."

"Jo's my best friend," the lawyer swallowed, "I wouldn't do that."

"Objectivity isn't a luxury of the heart counselor." Boots stood with renewed energy. Anger coursed through her in waves. She was appalled by Blair's audacity to assume that she wasn't worthy of Jo's love. And on an honest day she would be inclined to agree. Tonight instead she indulged the fantasy beyond the woman, who shared Jo's bed occasionally.

"Go home to your husband. Jo is mine."

Before Blair could reply Jo interrupted clearing her throat. Both women were silenced by the intrusion. The newcomer eyed Boots' tense back. Then her gaze landed on Blair's obstinate stance. Neither woman would continue with Jo in the room. This was her home and she felt like the outsider. She felt like she was in school again sitting down unwelcomed at a lively table that had suddenly gone silent because she sat down.

"It's late Blair," Jo walked further in the room. She picked up her jacket and opened the door for her. She wasn't in the mood to fight, but she wasn't stupid enough to let Blair leave this late alone in her neighborhood.

The brunettes back slowly eased from tension and her eyes rose to meet Jo's. She held Boots' gaze as Blair walked through the door. "Go back to bed, I won't be long." Jo couldn't help smirking at how well the socialite wore her flannel or the dichotomy of the masculine plaid compared to her dangling bracelet.

"Jo," Blair started when the night welcomed her with its fresh air.

Jo shook her head, "it's late." Jo trained her eyes on the street.

The blonde was determined to speak, "but Jo…."

"It's late Blair," Jo said tersely over her shoulder as she led the woman to her car.

She took the keys and opened the door.

"Jo!"

"What?" The brunette growled between clenched teeth. She had overheard enough of the conversation to know its topic. Whatever Blair wanted to say involved using energy she didn't have for emotions she wasn't in the mood to feel or explain. Unrequited love was easy. She could live with Blair being oblivious. But to consider that she felt the same was scary.

The blonde looked down. She imagined, if Jo possessed super human strength, the iron grip she had on the door would have broken it. She held onto to the hand with the desperate grip. She moved her finger tips across the veins. Jo didn't know what she was doing, but she didn't trust her voice was neutral enough to query.

"Is what she said true?" Blair was almost as desperate as the grip on her door.

"That you should go home to your husband, yes," Jo intentionally supplied the answer Blair didn't want to hear.

The blonde shook her head, "no."

Jo grew even more frustrated. Jo looked up to the dark sky. Blair was determined. All Jo had left was the truth. "My answer won't change the fact that I have someone waiting for me upstairs."

"Then there's no harm in hearing it then," Blair replied.

Blair was wrong. Even as the words escaped her lips neither woman was fool enough to believe that the truth wouldn't instigate a chain reaction of hurt. There were too many emotions involved to be unscathed by honesty. That information gave Jo a lot of power. She chose to supply a half truth in its place.

"I love you Blair, enough to watch you marry someone else so you could live out the fairytale you always wanted." There were at an intimate distance. Jo's hand reached upward to caress the side of her face with the back of her fingers. "Don't make that pain of letting you go be in vain by digging up answers that don't matter anymore."

"They matter."

"Blair," Jo tried to stop her.

"They matter!"

Jo sighed, "lawyer, adulterer, you got some sick fascination with morally corrupt labels?" The cop knew it was cruel, but Blair would never forgive herself if she gave into the latter.

Blair lowered her head. That was what she was proposing wasn't it? Not even a month in her marriage and she was considering exploring something she wasn't ready to name with Jo. She had learned many lessons from her parents. She was her mother's daughter if she even considered stepping out of her marriage. She sighed and sat in the car.

Jo watched her before she closed the door after her. She seemed smaller, not the larger than life woman, who she found it hard to say no to. Glittering in the street light was a symbol of the reason they could never be. When the door shut and the car started, she still couldn't take her eyes off of her. The fire that Jo had seen died. She couldn't help but blame her words for killing the flame.

Blair was capable of many things. However, following in her parents footsteps in regards to their 'search for love' was never her ambition.


	7. Chapter 7

Boots hadn't moved from the chair when Jo returned. Her legs had fallen crossed together. Her head was raised as if preparing herself for an onslaught from the cop. Jo knelt in front of her. Boots legs spread to accommodate her. Her fingers ran through the dark tresses that almost matched her hair color.

"It's always lovely to see old friends. I can't wait until our Langley reunion," her voice seethed with sarcasm.

Jo was silent. In truth she stopped listening when her mind veered back to the bracelet that brushed against her neck. Fingering it with her curious limbs she touched each piece. The design was familiar. "Where'd you get this?" Jo asked not sure why she asked the question.

"A friend," she answered vaguely.

"What's wrong?" the heiress yelled after her.

Jo stood abruptly turning the lamp on by the bed. Picking up her satchel she held the picture of the black white image of the stolen jewelry under it. She read the description. The jewelry could match. "Nothing," she stated looking up at the wall as if it confirmed her suspicion.

Starting back to Boots she paused in the doorway. If she came in like a cop she would have nothing to do with her. Returning the paper securely she sat adjacent to Boots. She eyed her skeptically knowing Jo was holding back intentionally.

"I don't have a problem," she reiterated without provocation.

"But you carry an illegal substance in your bracelet whenever you need a pick me up?" Jo asked. "The friend you got it from they know what you use it for?"

Boots stood, "this is sounding awfully like an interrogation."

"I'm your friend."

"We fuck Jo, we're not friends."

Jo sat silently. Boots had made up her mind. This wasn't an intervention questions came easy for the cop, but they were only making the situation worse. "I don't want to save you," Jo stated.

"Then what?" she asked. The glimpse of a vulnerable woman was replaced by the vixen that made Jo scream.

Jo played her game. She rose in a fluid motion slamming her into the wall while her mouth attacked her exposed flesh. She bit harshly and Boots held on as desperately as Jo tried to devour her in one bite. They would lose themselves tonight. They would for a moment forget the rest of the world and blend in to each other and the sheets until the sun came up.

When first light came Jo would worry about the bracelet again and how it was procured. For now how many times she could make Boots climax while standing was the only thing on her agenda to investigate.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

School was safe. No matter how many times someone screwed up there was always someone there to pick up the pieces. Mrs. G wasn't there to catch them as they fell anymore. They were adults and Blair would feel awkward if she dared to ask for help. It was the reason she had dialed her mother's number. She made a promise to herself if she didn't answer on the third ring she would hang up and rid Jo as anything more than a friend out of her head.

By whatever fortune Monica answered on the second.

"Well if it isn't the newlywed," her mother greeted, "you dragged yourself out of bed to give your mother the lurid details?" her mother queried humorously.

Blair smiled at her mother's antics. Mentioning her husband intimately only seemed to make her feel guilty for the other stirrings that involved a certain cop. There was no way to sugarcoat the conversation she needed to have with her mother. She dove in.

"Why did you cheat on dad?"

"Darling I…." she started, "where did that come from?" she questioned concerned.

"I'm my mother's daughter. You figure it out." Blair was intentionally leading.

"That's not fair," her mother sounded startlingly sober.

"'Not fair is being born with two selfish parents who taught me what they knew best." The blond hadn't called to attack her mother. The words had come out on the own volition.

Monica was stunned into silence. Blair knew she had hit a nerve. She regretted the words as soon as she had spoken them. "I didn't mean it mother….I," but Monica interrupted her daughters apology.

"Graham borders on perfect so it'll be interesting to hear who you it is you question your marriage for." Her mother had met him a handful of times, but she was a rolling stone first and foremost. There was only so much of her life she could share before her mother moved on to the next novelty.

Blair had no intention of telling her mother that much. "Let's just say under the right circumstances I would never have married Graham."

"Then you have your answer don't you?"

Blair on the verge of finishing her apology stopped when she heard the dial tone. Staring at her phone she wondered what her next move should be.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

"Marshall Parent."

Boots stiffened. She had awakened that morning alone in the bed. As a habitual blanket hog it didn't surprise her that Jo was no longer in her bed. She was startled when she turned away from the window to see a standing Jo. Boots was even more startled when she heard the name.

"You're friend that gave you the bracelet, it's him isn't it?"

Boots didn't speak.

"It was stolen by a junkie. He probably used it to pay for drugs. He gets high while the old guy he beats spends the night in a hospital bed."

Jo had admired her as she slept. She looked peaceful, too peaceful to have awakened her. So she waited. But the sun had come. The bliss of the evening couldn't be carried over into the morning. There was a dead body at stake and more suffering people dying every day by putting garbage in their body.

The brunette spoke volumes when she rose from Jo's bed and began to dress. Trialing her with her eyes alone she waited for anything Boots would offer. There was nothing. She was just as stubborn as she was in school if not more.

"What are you doing?" the question searched for a deeper truth than the obvious.

As if sensing that she stopped buttoning her shirt leaving only four buttons undone. "It's that easy to judge me?"

"Do you know how many people I see lose their lives over that shit you sniff? Whatever you think you get from it, it's not worth it," Jo stepped toward her.

"I quit and then what?" she asked expanding her arms as she waited for an answer. "You forget Blair and we live in a Sapphic fantasy?" She buried her head in Jo's shirt sniffing her scent. She had showered and smelled divine. "I'm not her," the woman breathed tiredly "I don't want to be. At least I can give into my desires once in a while despite what society might think of me. You're in love with a woman who's stuck."

Boots pulled away from Jo grabbing her last article of clothing. She barely acknowledged Dorothy as she passed her in the miniature kitchen or Natalie who stood at the door as she opened it to leave. Natalie looked at after her curiously then after closing her door stepped to Dorothy for answers. Jo stood in the doorway of her room seeing them stare back at her. She moved out of sight to lean her back on her black dresser.

When Dorothy was younger she couldn't appreciate that her words and observations made an impact on the people around her. When she realized that power she tried to rein it in and use it as moderately as possible. Though even at its barest of use her words had the power to wound or change a life or a single moment. Her friends called it gossip, but gossip was too hard a word for it. Event still she couldn't escape the sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach as she stared out the window of the Assistant District Attorney's office.

She would explain that she did it out of love. Dismissing Jo's wrath and Blair's rage she set actions on motion that couldn't be stopped. Without her they would lose themselves in a selfish fantasy damn the consequences. She was saving them. So why did saving them feel like betrayal? She warred with her conscience before she called. She forced her legs to move forward to arrive there on time to say what needed to be said.

As a professional onlooker she was savvy to mannerisms and unfolding. She had seen a gradual friendship between too incredibly dissimilar girls. The growth continued into womanhood where a strong bond had been set. Jo had the power to take Blair away, because she loved Jo. Blind devotion coupled with years of history Dorothy could see Blair, the romantic, could corrupt the purity of friendship for more. Because Dorothy could see it and feared it she felt it her duty to impress upon Graham that he do everything in his power to save his marriage.

She hadn't spoken to Boots since she walked out the morning she confronted her about her involvement with Marshall. Jo hadn't pushed even though procedure stated she should. Drug charges were better than no charge even though there was nothing about the Paulo case that substantiated her gut feeling. The man showed a penchant for violence, but without Boots' testimony it would be too hard to prove his guilt. The lull in the case left room for other cases to be opened and closed. Jo's personal life seesawed from bad to nothing and to be honest she preferred the nothing.

When Dorothy returned to her apartment Natalie kept her in tune with the outside world. The reporter did what she did best and reported. Outside of misdemeanors and roughing up junkies the real excitement didn't come until Marshall walked through the precinct doors in handcuffs. Kolfee had made the collar. Off an anonymous tip from a certain mature exotic dancer they had a place. Stale coffee and hard donuts and cold Chinese weren't the preferred stakeout sustenance, but it kept them alive.

One of Debra's regulars as bragged about being the driver to a dealer that fit Marshall's description. The break in the case was exactly what Jo needed to feel like universe wanted her to keep busting balls. They got a name and after searching his employment history for five years he's been the driver to the same man. Marshall Parent.

Now he sat in a four walled room full of stained walls where coffee was splattered and yet to be cleaned. The glass window where Jo watched from the other side took up a whole wall. Marshall stood unconcerned in handcuffs picking his teeth with a nail. The hair on his knuckle stood at attention. Jo had to remind herself the glass was reinforced. Putting her hand through it to carry out her most primal desire to hurt him wouldn't be wise.

She imagined his weeping confession, but it was an indulgent fantasy. Parent wouldn't crack as easily as some of the idiots that peed in the very chair he chose for himself. She smirked at the memory enjoying the small things. It was Kolfee's collar, he would take lead while Scott stood and watched. His purpose was to unsettle the calm.

No sooner had the second question been asked when a stout attorney with a head of grey sauntered in. He demanded his client stay quiet and the officers to leave. As an afterthought he also mentioned that he would be representing Timothy Bening, the driver. Jo glared as the technician turned off the sound to the room. She turned to them briefly before she headed out to meet her colleagues.

"Daddy coming to the rescue," Kolfee stated needlessly. The other two nodded as their dual glares landed on the closed door where their suspect consulted with his attorney.

He didn't have time for a phone call. His father had probably been tipped. The team hated to think their brothers in blue were on the take, but it was a reality. Cops were underpaid for what was required of them. Most had families or ex wives and alimony to consider. They may have brought him in quietly, but like now that could easily be undone. They had showed their hand now it was time for Graham to come in and save the day so to speak.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

The usual suspects walked into Hogalvee's to drink the evening away. Hog knew the names of everyone who walked in and if he didn't he made sure that he did by the end of the night. It was good to know who one is surrounded by. Glasses filled he eyed the TV until someone bothered him for a refill. In contrast to his son and the majority of his patrons he was a soccer fan more so than football. Scott mentioned on many an occasion it was good that people came for the beer since that viewing sucked. Hog compromised on special circumstances like the Super bowl, but for the most part he wasn't interested on have it on his screen.

He turned head to the door in time to see an old face glower in his direction. He picked up a bottle of and a glass in front of the spot he knew Graham would sit. The man was a creature of habit. "Long time no see stranger," he greeted.

Graham nodded eying the glass that Hog poured wordlessly. Two shots back to back and the settling burn gave him the words he'd been searching for. "How did you know?" He asked vaguely the rest of the question was lost to him.

Fortunately Hog was a perceptive man. There was one of two things that made anyone feel like their life was ruined. For Graham to come in looking that he went twenty rounds with a juiced up orangutan gave him a good guess. The frown lines that creased his friends face now were brought on by one thing, a woman. "How did you know she was the right one?"

Graham met his eyes as if he was on the right track. "How indeed," he swallowed another shot.

"It's different for everybody."

"Yea," he sighed rubbing his hand along his face, "I feel like an idiot."

"Women do that," the older man helped. He wasn't sure the cause of Graham's crisis of faith in his marriage, but he wouldn't ask until Graham was willing to answer. In his line of work everyone has something to hide. And if they didn't have anything to hide there was always something they were dying to share. These types of things came out eventually, whether or not the person sharing was ready to accept the reality of what they were saying.

Whatever Graham was grappling with was eating him up inside. Liquid courage may make him brave enough to face it. He might even laugh until he sobered enough to ignore that he wasn't strong at all.

He lifted his glass to drink. Stopping at his mouth he lowered it, "I married a woman who's in love with someone else." Hog picked up a bottle from under the counter and sat it in front of his brother in blue. There wasn't much left to do to console him.

He left the house for work. He hadn't misled Blair about that. After the party he couldn't shake his embarrassment over Blair's accusations against Boots. He'd taken a detour from heading back home to Jo's neighborhood to do damage control. He didn't expect to see his wife beating him to the punch. It wasn't strange to see the two women so close they might kiss. Total opposites in disputes and mannerisms and they were drawn together He wondered about Jo and Blair in the back of his mind. How close had they been in college? The other night sounded alarms in his psyche seeing the friends while catching bits and pieces of their conversation. The tension and consternation radiating from them made him drunk with unease. Instead of heading home after work for the past few days he went to Hogalvee's. He wasn't a cop anymore, but he knew Hog wouldn't turn him away if he needed a place to sleep.

As the minutes passed the pull out bed wasn't looking as attractive as it had when he was determined to make Blair suffer. But she wouldn't if he was the one with back problems. Why should it be her to suffer? She was the victim wasn't she? Jo was the degenerate that he called friend. He looked passed her lifestyle and her shortcomings. He had been the better man that Blair choice to spend her life with. Jo had most of their lives to say something, but she never did. What right did she have now to take away his happiness? It was then that he rationalized that Jo was the one that needed to pay. Blair had only been an unwitting object of Jo's misguided affections. Blair wasn't like her. She was straight and his and married and he would remind her of that when he returned home.

Standing from his stool he waved Hog goodnight.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Jo had had a relatively decent morning. She had woken up only twice that night. The rest of the night she slept without nightmares or inappropriate dreams of a certain blond. She was relieved for the inadvertent routine she had created for herself. Work, eat, and sleep. There was nothing in between because she refused to let anything other than the essentials exist in her head. The case was rocky, but Graham would smooth out the areas that were shaky at best.

The day before she returned the bracelet Paulo had stolen and Boots had claimed. The victim's son smiled that at least and heirloom had been recovered. It was a small gesture, but the cop felt good nonetheless. The day had seemed promising at least until a fist connected with her face. Her body was slammed on her desk, but her instincts kicked in when she saw a pale fist speed toward her face again. She held her forearms up protectively. But the blow never came.

Meaty dark hands pulled Scott off of her.

"What the hell is wrong with you!" spit and blood flew from her mouth as she screamed. Her hand rose to her chin where the mixture had spilled.

"No, what's wrong with you?" he glared.

Jo looked from Kolfee to her even angrier partner, "walk it off," the dark man pointed to the door. Scott paced for a moment before she shoved passed Jo.

Kolfee closed the door behind the irate cop. Leaving his hand on the knob he turned. He hadn't been the longest on the team, but there were certain rules to follow. Jo had broken one important one and their case had paid for it.

"Sit down," he demanded. Jo wiped at her mouth again until he handed her napkin left over from their last fast food run.

Jo looked down at the blood then at the door knowing Scott hadn't gone far, "what the hell?"

"He's letting Parent walk."

"What? Who?" Jo leaned forward.

"Parent's old man had a meeting with Graham. Whatever he said seemed to have made all our work for nothing."

Kolfee rubbed his chin. Jo narrowed her eyes at the darker man. He looked speculative, as if there was more to say or rather ask. "Is there something else?"

"Did you sleep with his wife?" Jo's stomach dropped. Her palms were sweaty. She opened her mouth to speak, but the words were left to scramble around in her head since they all wanted to come out at once. Kolfee continued, "He fucked us because you fucked her."

"He wouldn't do that," Jo whispered thinking out loud, "how could he think that!" her voice rose as she stood wiping over her top lip.

"Did you?" Kolfee's curiosity got the better of him. "Personally I'd rather you say yes at least the case wouldn't be gone for nothing."

Jo's head rose sharply. Then her eyes stared down at the case of donuts she had brought up. It had been her turn to bring breakfast something they always did every Thursday. It was a boring day so they liked to bring some life into it by surprising each other with treats. Her lays splattered on the floor with shoot imprints when Scott had attacked.

This was real. This was happening. She had been asked if she were an adulterer. Pulling herself up from the dark that threatened to swallow her she grabbed onto a life preserver, her anger.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

"You let him go?" Jo whispered harshly when she barreled into his office. The door slammed against the wall roughly shaking the glass on the door.

He held up his hand to stall the dam of rage he knew was waiting to rain on him in every explicative Jo knew of.

What was a hand? Jo slammed hers on the desk leaning forward until she was eye level with her former partner. His eyes lowered a little then rose again. He wouldn't give Jo the satisfaction of a reaction that would fuel her validation. She had come in with the perception he was enemy. The best defense was to refuse to give into it. The attorney spared a glance behind her half expecting Scott to be on heels.

"You let him go," Jo growled blame marinated in her intonation.

Darla, his secretary, stood flabbergasted. Her hair, too curly to tame, flew in different directions despite her attempt at a bun. A pen and pad dangled from her hands as she waited for her cue to move. She eyed the phone inches from her and as her hand fell to pick it up a quick glance from the ADA stopped her.

"Is there anything else you'll need from me today?" her uncertainty was answered by a reassuring nod to the door. Jo didn't acknowledge her. Backing away hesitantly she would keep her ears open just in case. Darla didn't know much about the stranger, but Graham was too kind of man to be attacked physically or verbally. The door closed with a click and then the room erupted.

Graham glared from across the table. Jo was on a rampage. Jo had walked, no, barged in his office without regard to how it may look to his colleagues. She undercut him still and felt no remorse.

"Are you finished?" he hadn't moved from his seat. Though Jo like a caged animal paced, there was more she had yet to unleash. His only hope was to reason with her or at least make his explanation plausible enough to escape being shot. "There's no solid evidence. Bluffs are unpredictable we're lucky he fell for it."

"Lucky?" Jo repeated. Jo gift wrapped the case herself and all Graham could come up with was luck. "The word you're looking for his police work."

"Twelve months probation is good. He'll give us names of suppliers and more distributors. That's the important thing isn't it?"

It was a slap on the wrist. Probation meant house arrest in his own home. Where was the justice, the accountability for taking a life?

"I heard his dad came down and bent you over on that very desk." Jo stopped pacing, "called you bitch and you took it up the ass like one."

Graham rose fast while his chair slammed into the wall behind him releasing the blinds. They swung low under the frame of windowsill. "You got me confused with that woman you boot up in police cruisers."

"Don't change the subject sell out," the cop stepped closer to the desk. She didn't mind that it separated them. It wouldn't take long for her to jump over it if she needed to. "What about the murder?"

Graham's eyes darkened, "who can count how many cases like this we come across? Not enough evidence. A sane attorney wouldn't let it go any further than paper…." He yelled.

Jo wasn't satisfied. Graham didn't roll over or give in easily. He was a fighter. No one but Jo knew that best. "This is bullshit." She bit the side of her finger in an effort to calm down.

"Some of us want to put everyone who deserves it behind bars. The rest of us want faithful wives and dependable friends…. We don't always get everything." Graham watched Jo carefully as he spoke. Her eyes glittered with rage had dimmed with another emotion. There was guilt and then the gleam she had upon entering his office.

Jo's hands anxious for somewhere to sit and wait rested on Jo's waist. "What's that s'pposed to mean?"

He swallowed hard taking his seat again. His hand reached for his ball point pen. "It means nothings perfect, ideas, marriages, people," he listed pointedly.

Jo had crossed a line. It wasn't imaginary. The line hadn't been hazy or painted gray. It wasn't meant to be stepped on or over, but Jo had a moment of weakness. The ticking of a clock in the corner beside the window behind Graham mocked her. Time hadn't been her friend. With time her feelings hadn't faded, but instead deteriorated her resolve. The greatest love affair she would ever experience had ended before it began. Graham threw daggers that were sharper than any blade to pierce her skin. She succumbed to the velocity of betrayal—making it that more pivotal for Jo to remember as the walls fell, why they were weakened in the first place. Then there was their friendship. A portrait of light and dark transcended over the growing pains of camaraderie and a love that could never be.

Graham had showed his strength by selling his soul to the devil. Did Jo love Blair enough to walk away?

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

"They think we've slept together."

Blair stopped on the first step. She turned abruptly noticing as Jo stood against the metal railing separating her townhouse from her neighbor. Jo was staring through her.

"What?" she breathed. The memory of her conversation with her mother came rushing back to her.

"My team resents me. Can't close cases if the ADA thinks your banging his wife."

"We're not banging," she looked at her door before she walked down to her.

Jo nodded stepping fast and closing in until Blair's back pushed painfully against the hard of her the stone of her steps. "I know that. You know that," Jo breathed staring down at lips so close to breathe on, but too far to touch. "But we also know other things don't we?"

She lowered her head to the side resting her head on the lawyer's shoulder. Blair stared straight ahead thinking of what she could say to console her friend. She wasn't the pillar of moral fortitude that she prided herself to be. She was a fraud. As her friend was spiraling out of control, here she was breathing in her insanity wondering what it felt like to taste her friend.

Jo's hands rose accidentally on purpose brushing against Blair's bosom. She heard a hitch in her throat, but Jo didn't linger. She reached for the pins in Blair's hair that kept it up. Pulling one out then another she looked at her handiwork and sighed in awe. Her best friend was beautiful. If she wasn't mistaken she would swear that Blair leaned slightly forward. All she had to do was meet her.

The brunette stepped back. Blair responded stepping forward. She was too late. Jo had retreated far beyond her reach. She dropped her head to avoid the gaze that would probe for answers the detective couldn't give.

"Like what?" the blond breathed daring for Jo to continue. It was important for her to hear the words. Her next actions depended on it.

"It was wrong to come here. To act like I wanted to fight for you," Jo pulled away even further.

"That's the best you can do?" incredulity illustrated her disgust. She expected more. Not an admission of surrender.

"No," there was more honesty in that one word than anything Jo would say before and after it. She wanted Blair to see her pain to feel it as it tore through her like a bullet ricocheting inside her. This was hard for her. She was dying barely a foot away from the woman she loved. And her saving grace was nothing that either of them could live with. Jo was confident they would be happy for a few hours. But the light of day would shine on them. Too brightly to withstand the cold truth that would eventually end them.

"No?" Blair pressed for more, but Jo was silent now. "What am I walking into up there?" Her husband was home. Who would greet her when she went inside?

"A loving husband that would do anything for his wife," Jo's truth was marinated in the ache of telling it. He had only expressed blame and rage toward Jo. Blair was innocent in his eyes as if Jo were the one trying to seduce his wife away from him.

Blair looked up at the door then the lights in her windows. "You have a window of opportunity here Jo," Blair stated almost desperately. The real Jo hadn't shown herself yet. "Tell me we can go," Blair helped, "we can hop on your bike and ride anywhere we want. Ask me to love you and risk everything for us and I will. Beg me Jo." She grabbed a fist full of Jo's shirt pulling her to her roughly, "Beg me," she whispered hard before her lips met the silent cop.

It had been Jo's every intention to stand her ground. She had come to make things right, but as the idea ran through her head, it made her too tired to think of the effort it would take. Pulling away was taking a lot out of her. She hadn't expected so much fight from Blair. Where had it come from? Why hadn't Jo seen it sooner? Was this what had frightened Dorothy to tell her she wasn't good enough—to provoke Graham to let a criminal walk?

Whatever it was it tasted divine. She was swimming in a dream letting herself be taken over physically and emotionally by the woman willing her to give in.

"Baby?" Graham's voice had ended her revelry. Blair wrenched away in fear. The brunette would recollect the sweetness of a kiss and before it the dream that didn't do reality justice. She would revere it and forever compare every kiss to the lips of her best friend. Blair had pulled away. And as soon as she did it she regretted the move.

Jo witnessed her courage as it came raging forward like a bull. Now it retreated too cowardly for Jo to be convinced that Blair was ready for anything but words and empty actions. Brushing her hand against Blair's face softly she smiled into their last kiss and moved away enough to give Blair room to move freely, but still be in the dark from Graham's prying eyes.

The blond hesitated. She had closed the window she spoke fervently of. Now she walked safely into the home she made with someone that wasn't Jo.

"What were you doing down there?" Graham asked taking her hand.

Blair pulled him away from the edge protecting Jo, "I thought I heard some cats going through our trash again," she stated sheepishly.

He looked at her oddly before he turned to the dark. Ignoring his gut instinct to investigate he pulled her to him instead. Blair dodged the kiss barreling into his arms. "I kinda pictured that a little differently," he stated quietly.

The hug had been a ploy, but Blair sank into it needing the comfort of strong arms around her. There was still time to leap through the window. But as the seconds passed she realized that it was getting harder to pull away. This was the life that she said she wanted with a handsome, faithful, smart, attentive, strong man to attend to her every whim. Jo wouldn't be this easy. Nothing with Jo was ever easy.

Walking made Jo feel like she was moving. Even though she knew she was standing still. She'd been here before. The burn of heart ache filling her chest so she couldn't breathe. On the verge of suffocating she knew she couldn't stop, not until she had arrived.

"I just lost the love of my life for the second time," Jo croaked as Boots opened her door.

Jo considered Boots might have company. If she did she would find somewhere else to go. Fortunately the socialite stepped aside to let her in.

Jo sat on the couch holding her head in her hands. She looked up at Boots who stared at her then the table. The detective had interrupted her as three white lines of powder were evidence of what she was doing before she answered the door. Jo looked down at where the brunette's eyes were trained. Boots wouldn't turn her away. But there were things that Jo had to accept if they were friends.

"Don't let me interrupt you," she whispered.

She watched from the corner of her eye as her former schoolmate took her first line, then her second, and her third. Everything seemed to be washed away as Boots' high settled into every part of her. Jo would never admit the envy she identified as she watched her relax like she had no worries. A hand rubbed Jo's shoulder. The cop stiffened in reflex. She hadn't come here for sex. And she didn't want Boots while she was like this. She turned to tell her and saw another invitation. She lay in the lap offered. She felt the nails run through her hair soothingly as her mother had done when she was a child and there was nothing more she could do. Tomorrow would be better. It had to be if this was the worst day of her life.


End file.
